


The Correspondance of Kingdoms

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [20]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, brother & sister letters, living in a land that is not your own, missing your sibling, warning for mention of cot-death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 53,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eomer and Eowyn are not, by nature or schooling, letter-writers. But - how else can they communicate now?</p><p>(Post-Ring-war, letters between the heirs of Rohan).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Autumn in the Year 509 of the Kingdom of Rohan.

 

From Eomer, King of the Rohirrim, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien,

My dear sister,

So. I am first to write. You thought I would not, I wager. Yet, I miss you. Oh, I daresay you will say you miss me, but you have new adventures, new lands, and a husband. I doubt you miss me much.

But before that, I said I would write and I shall, but you know me. You know I was never one for my lessons. And so I shall assume you will forgive my inkblots, my woeful spelling, my bad grammar, my mistakes. Be grateful there is a letter, and that you can read it. 

Possibly I will improve over the years. It seems there is more writing to being a king than I had known. No wonder our cousin was always kept at his books more than you and I. Poor Theodred. What a waste of time. What a waste of his life. 

Sorry. That is not helpful.

I miss you.

That is not helpful either.

I hope you are very happy. I hope you are only with child if you wish to be yet. I hope you have remembered all the advice I am sure you had from our ladies. I hope your steward is treating you well. 

I miss you.

Come home. No. I do not mean that. But, write to me.

It is lonely being king. With no sister. None to talk to. The advisors of the court all have their own thoughts, plans. 

You will say, again, that I should marry.

You are right. But, who? I do not have a convenient sweetheart. All my advisors keep reminding me to marry, to produce an heir. But they all suggest only their own daughters or nieces. 

And I do not wish to raise one higher. 

Nor to tie us closer to Gondor.

I should have married years ago, when it would have been my own choice. But we never dreamt it would come to this.

I miss you.

Eowyn, write to me. Tell me all is well with you.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eomer rests his head in his hands. It is not, he knows, a very good letter. It is probably not the letter his sister hopes for, but it is the best he can write. He is not one to whom all this writing comes naturally, not one who has practiced enough to have learnt the skill he now needs. 

He misses his sister.

He never expected to be king. That was for Theodred. He was supposed to be king, and Eomer – Eomer perhaps First Marshall, one day. No more. Father of kings, perhaps, he knew that, things being as they were, there was a good chance his son might be king one day in the future. Not him.

But Theodred died.

And even when he knew he would be king – he always assumed his sister would be near by. Would marry one who would be pleased to spend part of the year at Edoras. 

One whom he could have called brother.

Enough. The letter is written. It will go with the other missives, to Minas Tirith and then on to Ithilien. He wonders what it will find, but as he stares out across the grasslands, he accepts he will never really know the truth of his sister’s life from here on. 

Only the tale she chooses to tell.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter 509

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan

 

My dear brother,

Indeed, you are the first to write, and I am astounded, and flattered. Had I known what affection you would find, I would have left our halls long ago, if only for a short time, that you might unearth it. Your writing skills have not improved since we left our tutors, you are right in that, and I daresay you will need to remedy this, king as you now are. 

And so I graciously give you leave to write to me again.

Next time, with perhaps more news of our people. And less self-pity.

I will not say I miss you, or our land, for I am, as you say, busy. And newly married, which is a state I highly recommend to you. Brother, do not marry merely for help, marry for love if you can. Do not become one of those men who find it necessary to ride out for many weeks simply to escape the tedium and misery of their home. A happy marriage would be the making of you. Believe me.

Although I am sure you know more of the pleasures that await you than I did, and on that subject, I would advise you to limit your activities now the license of war is gone. I think you know what I mean. No wife will like to find her husband encumbered by many children.

That said, no I do not know who in this wide world could be induced to marry you. If there is no girl of our lands willing, you should perhaps consider why this is, even though you are a king.

Brother mine, I jest. Your thoughts are, surprisingly, wise. Do not marry one of your advisors’ daughters or nieces. Unless you actually love her of course. 

I will think. But I fear you may have to seek outside our homeland, and I understand you wish no closer ties with Gondor. Besides, how would you choose? And which Gondor noble would pack his daughter off to you? It is a problem. Was there none you met and became close to during the war, who might have a daughter or sister of marriageable age? 

Other than our dear Meriadoc. I do not think a hobbit bride would be much use to you. Or much pleasure. 

I do not wish to know if you think otherwise.

Anyway, I am not yet with child. I sincerely hope this state of affairs will continue for some time, as I do not think the land of Ithilien will be all that I would wish for a child’s country for some years. However, it seems the people of Gondor practice no medicine or art in this, seeing it as something to be ordered by the Valar alone, so I will refrain from discussing it further in a letter which could fall into other hands. And would be grateful if you will do the same.

Ithilien is or more accurately, should be and was, a very lovely land. However, there is much sign, not only of warfare, but of the evil traces of the Enemy. To be honest, brother mine, I would prefer not to go into more details. It is enough to say that I shall be pleased if these elves, whose help we were promised, can perform half as much as F says they will. It is, I fear, one subject on which we do not agree. My dear F has a great regard for all things elvish, half-elvish or partly elvish. Like you, I am more doubtful, and cannot but wonder if the cost of such help will be beyond our means in the end. I also wonder whether any such help will truly outlast the visit of such creatures, or whether all their work will fade like an enchantment, and need doing again by Men.

As you will guess, there has been no word of such help, and I wonder whether that was just an idle promise. Or, I suppose, it is possible that on reaching his home, Legolas has discovered greater needs among his own people.

As we know, princes cannot always suit themselves, or follow their own desires, and for all we knew him merely as an elf, a fighter, he was a prince. 

Poor Theodred. I almost wish we had all known he would not become king. Perhaps he would then have found it easier to enjoy the time he had with his beloved. I am sure you know of whom I speak, but it would not be wise were I to write the name. There are many differences between the customs of Rohan and Gondor. Besides, they are both dead now, their shades perhaps have found each other.

I did not mean to end on such a note. I find I search for something more cheerful to say.

I daresay it will be Yule before you read this. I hope there is great cheer in our land this winter, although I know there must be sorrow with it. 

I do not yet know what Yuletide customs the people of Gondor have. But, I am determined, the people of Ithilien shall have some of ours added to them. If this is to be my home, it must feel like it.

Write to me soon, I treasure your words, more than I would have thought.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Indeed, Eowyn had not expected her brother to write so soon. Or so heartfelt a letter. In truth, fond though they have always been of each other, they have not been given to confidences. There was never any need as children, they knew each other’s lives as their own. And since then – there has been nothing it would be any joy to disclose.

Now though – now things are different. 

Much though she loves Faramir, happy with her choice as she is, there are moments when a few words in her own tongue are very welcome. It is hard to always be the stranger, always to learn new ways.

Fortunately there are compensations. She smiles, knowing she glows, as does her husband, knowing that marriage suits them both. They will learn to negotiate the differences, she is sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

Late Winter 510

 

From Eomer, king of the Rohirrim, to Eowyn, lady of Ithilien,

 

My dear sister,

I still miss you. But I am glad you are well. Yule seemed quiet without you. 

Sorry. That is not helpful.

I hope spring comes soon to your land. I hope spring comes soon to our land. It is cold this year, and the stocks were low. And although we lost many, I fear there will be hunger before the spring lambs are born, before the New Year brings the better times.

Being king in peacetime is so different to the war years. I think I was better at fighting. Better at being in command of troops. 

I miss your skill at books, at accounts, at records.

At speaking soft and persuading.

Although perhaps I am remembering wrong. 

I think I just miss having you to lean on. And I never knew how much I did.

I hope you keep Faramir in order. I hope he is grateful.

Sorry. 

Anyway. News. What is there to tell? Life goes on, pretty much as it always has. Except I work harder.

There seem to be more cats around the place. I have no idea why. Possibly Wormtongue was in the habit of eating kittens, it does not strike me as unlikely.

And we expect visitors. To Edoras first, and then they will go on to Helms Deep. I have had letters from Erebor. Gimli of the Nine Walkers is to come, as we spoke of, and begin to make a dwarf colony in the caves. The Glittering Caves, as he titles them. Aglarond. 

Now, I was under the impression that this was to be a very informal arrangement. That he wished to excavate for the sake of beauty only. 

I was also under the impression, and I am confident I was not the only one, that Gimli was not married. Nor in any way promised to one. Professed love only for the Lady of the Golden Wood.

But, and you will laugh, sister, I have received letters signed not Gimli, but Droin. Son of Dwalin. This Droin seems to act for Gimli. As though, well, I wonder if dwarves say son meaning child? Is this his wife? Do you know? I cannot imagine any other being so completely in the confidence of such a warrior. I cannot imagine that any other than a helpmeet could speak so decisively for another. I know, you will say that it is a clerk, an advisor, and I find it hard to say why I do not think so. But there is something in the tone, some amused tolerance, some gentle understanding, some way of correcting his words without seeming to imply he was at fault that makes me think this is more. Certainly, it is what I would desire from a wife. Yet I remember Gimli’s behaviour among our warriors, and sister, I know you understand what I mean, and I am at a loss as to what to think. 

And the content of the letters. I confess, I do not understand all the terms he uses. I am not a natural scribe, as you know, I do not follow all the language, the words. And yet I have none to ask. I do not like to reveal my ignorance to my advisors, indeed, I do not think they would be much better than I. We are not a people for booklearning. Nor for words and documents. Gimli, I thought I understood. He is a warrior. Outspoken, fierce, loyal and true to his word. Simple. As I am simple. This cousin, as he says he is, I think is a different type.

I wish I had someone from a more bookish land to help me. I don’t suppose you have a spare clerk you could send me? No. I do not really wish to ask for more aid from Gondor, nor to reveal my weakness. 

Perhaps I should marry one who could help me. Have you no thoughts there my sister? Saying you do not know who would possibly be induced to marry me is not very helpful. It is all very well for you. Gondor did not send any maidens into battle for me to sweep off their feet. Or for them to sweep me off my horse, if you prefer it said that way. 

I await these dwarves with fear, I admit. But they are to go to Gondor first, to rebuild those gates for the King. So perhaps I have time to study these words, to try and make sense of all that this dwarf asks.

I send you a copy, hoping you will help me. Please, Eowyn. I am sorry I was an annoying elder brother. I am sorry I teased you. Help me.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

The letter is heartfelt indeed. Eomer is increasingly aware of his lack, increasingly he wishes to shake that boy who was so unwilling to learn, so slow to listen, so dense. He makes a resolution – any child of his shall learn. Properly. At the right time. From the best tutors available. The figuring – he can just about follow, and it is acceptable for a king to have a clerk to do such. The writing – he is competent. Not skilled, perhaps, not able to pick and choose his words, but – he can be true to himself. The understanding of these other peoples, with their stone-city ways, as he terms them – that – ah, that – for that he needs so much he has not. 

Patience.

Empathy.

Knowledge.

Somewhere, he knows his sister would not have been that much better than he. She is no more gifted than he, no less direct, no more learned. But – just to have someone with whom he could talk, without fearing to raise hopes, to show preference – that would be much. As it is, these letters will do.

And he resolves – he must find a wife. One who can be a true helpmeet. One who can do that which he cannot.

It is odd about the cats, though.


	4. Chapter 4

Early Spring 510

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

You do sound woeful in your last letter. I could be annoying and ask you to compare your position now to that of a year ago, but I sense this would not help. I do understand, that it is hard, that you have duties you never expected, that you are alone. And I say again, is there none that you met during the War that had a daughter or sister?

Do I have your permission to ask my F if he has any ideas?

I am glad we arranged these letters to come by way of Minas Tirith, to come with all the papers from there, with news from your realm. Otherwise I fear I would hear little of any but you. Again, you have told me no news of any. Our old nurse is a better correspondent in many ways, for though some of what she writes is merely gossip, it is the gossip I miss. 

I suppose she has little else to do until we find you a wife and then an heir.

The only gossip you send me, indeed the only time you indicate you notice the world outside your own head, is that there are many cats. Indeed, I think it quite likely that Wormtongue ate kittens. Raw. In front of their mother. But this is hardly a cheerful note on which to begin a letter, except, I suppose, that he will not do so any more in our lands.

I have looked at the copy of the letter from Erebor. I do not see why you doubt the word of this Droin, that he be cousin to Gimli. He does not, quite, sound like a wife, although I don’t know why I say that. Besides, what reason would they have to not be open about this? I do indeed know to what you refer when you say you thought Gimli was unmarried, he certainly did not act as one who has any spouse. I think you are worrying overmuch. I think this dwarf is what he says, a cousin, one who cares for his cousin and is ready to help him. Would not you or I have done the same for Theodred or him for us? 

He does sound very different to Gimli. I suppose some dwarves must be bookkeepers, scribes, clerks. They are, remember, a trading race. It will be interesting to see such a warrior in another guise, I shall look forward to hearing about him and his people.

We, it seems, are to have elven help. My dear F has had a letter from Legolas, promising to arrive with his group of elves soon, although they too are to go to Minas Tirith first, as they also promised to help restore that land. I daresay those two friends will be pleased to see one another, and exchange news after these months apart. If you are right and I am wrong, and this Droin is indeed Gimli’s love, then doubtless he will wish to show him off to his friend. 

I think F was also surprised by the tone of Legolas’ letter. Indeed, it seemed, I am not sure how to put this, it seemed, more formal than I would have expected, the words more convoluted. It was his signature though, and I assume his hand, so perhaps that is just the elven way.

I daresay once he arrives, he will be much as he was before, and these odd phrases, hints of something more than the help we expected, will become clearer. Or will be revealed to be merely elvish ambiguity.

I do not think I can help you much with the contents of the letter you have received. At least, I have talked to some of the clerks here, and I have enclosed a list of all the words you did not know, along with explanations. But, as to how you should negotiate with such a dwarf, I have no idea. I think perhaps, straightforwardness might be your best plan. Complete openness. Ask. Do not try to think ahead and plan as though it is an adversary you face, but ask your friend, your comrade-in-arms. At least, that would be my approach, and, I think, F’s, but we are very trusting people. 

Yule seemed very quiet without you too. It seems that the people of Gondor consider themselves too learned, too far removed from the countryside to celebrate such a time in the way we do. Even their dancing is so slow, so courtly. Their feasts are so proper. We thought, you and I, at midsummer, that it was because of the many deaths in war that they seemed so. No. Apparently that was the most joyous they can become.

I think I will need to change this.

Remind me, did they seem surprised by our ways when the court procession came to Edoras? I was distracted at the time........

I remember Legolas dancing, I remember you spending a long time ‘watching the stars’ with him, I remember the behaviour of Gimli. I do not really remember those of the court, those of Gondor. I remember that the brothers of the High Queen were not as agreeable as one might have expected.

I wonder if that evening of star-watching has given you a reputation undeserved among our people? That and your new-found concern for cats. If there are no girls willing to marry you, have you had youths throwing themselves into your gaze?

I tease, brother. All know you are a man for women. Even I, your sister, have heard enough to know where your interests lie.

I miss teasing you. It is surprising what one does miss, I find. The plains, I do not. This land is very lovely. I have the freedom to ride, to come and go as I please, for F understands that I will never be a Gondor-house-mouse. In fact, I have more freedom than I did before, for I probably have fewer duties, as women seem not to be expected to do much more than care for children, and less worries, as I know you will understand. 

But, I miss teasing you. 

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eowyn sighs as she seals the letter, and wonders how long it will be until she hears again from her brother. Wonders what the dwarves will really be like. Wishes it was Gimli coming to Ithilien. Charming as Legolas may be – he is an elf. And Eowyn is not sure she likes elves, not sure how to understand them. Gimli – was easier.

She smiles, realising that – easy is certainly a good description of that dwarf. Realising too, that she fell for the charm, that had it been turned on her, she too might have made as much of a fool of herself as any rider. It was good to have the opportunity to warn Eomer of how some people had thought, good to be able to couch the question in their usual teasing style, to remind him that those who do not know might have seen in the elf’s epicene grace a something which might charm their prince – king as he now is. For, although he has something of a reputation among the women – it has been some years now since he was a carefree young prince trading shamelessly upon his deeds in battle for – for pleasure in bed. These last years he has been as careful, as slow to respond to any overtures as she herself has always known she must be, and that – that has given rise to other rumours. Those who bear their house ill-will were quick enough to point at the closeness of brother and sister, though she is confident only a very few believed such slander, and those – those are discredited with Wormtongue’s fall from favour. Her marriage has presumably quietened any still wondering. 

However, Theodred was no shy prince. All knew how he was, who he desired, even if he kept his love better hidden, and so – and so it may well be that there are those who wonder if Eomer is like his cousin. Since he is not, it is as well to advise him – she has long wondered how to do so, and this has been a good opportunity.

Somehow it is easier to pour out thoughts on to paper.

She sighs again, Yule was indeed very quiet, very formal. They are an odd people, these Gondorians. 

Perhaps some elves will do them good.


	5. Chapter 5

Spring 510

 

From Eomer, King of the Rohirrim, to Eowyn, lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister,

I have much news. Much gossip, in fact. You will be pleased with me, I hope, and I think your F will also be pleased, for I suspect that this letter may answer some questions.

But first, yes, yes, indeed you have my permission to speak to F of this question of whom your poor brother is to marry. Things are becoming urgent here. I am beset on all sides with young ladies, whose one aim seems to be to become queen. None of them are girls with whom I could laugh, none are the sort of girls who I know you would find friendship with, none are – fun. None are especially pretty, either, though all claim good true Rohirrim blood, and connections which might, I suppose be useful enough. But that to accept any one would be to refuse the rest. 

The prettiness, I can set aside. I know, I have known since I became the heir of our uncle, that I could not expect to marry for looks. Nor even for love. I hoped merely to marry where there could be friendship. Trust. Respect. 

Yet these girls, oh sister, I feel so much older than they. They seem but lately children. I do not know how any could expect me to trust such matters as the stewardship of my kingdom to any of them, were I sick or called away.

No, I do. They expect me to choose one whose father or uncle would be the regent in such a case.

I will not do so. Not until I am forced.

But, oh sister, help me. I am surrounded by giggling butterflies. Young girls. I need a helpmeet, a queen, not, I suppose, a shieldmaiden, but one who is at least educated. You will laugh, thinking I have not been overly bothered before, but in truth, I have never laid with a woman for whom I had no liking, never one with whom I could not laugh and talk. Never with such a young girl. Never with one who did not at least partly desire me for myself, not for my family, my position.

I can almost hear you laughing. Saying that this is the way the world is for any highborn female. True. But, my sister, you know I would not have asked you to marry any whom your heart did not wish for. You know this. So help me now.

You also asked for more gossip and less self-pity. So I will stop with the tragedy of my life, and start the gossip.

So. Bramling appears much smitten with Frewyn, daughter of Erkenbrand, and indeed, she seems fond of him, in as much as I am any judge. At least, she smiles at him, and he becomes silent, and trips and drops whatever he holds, so I hope she is fond of him and not merely amused by such power. 

I do not know Erkenbrand’s views on this, he is settling matters in the far Westfold. 

I believe Hathryn is with child, again. To the joy, no doubt, of whoever the father is this time, for she births lovely babies, and seems happy in her life with Brigita, asking the fathers to commit to no more than the child in question. Perhaps I should look to ask her to provide me with an heir, should all other routes fail me.

In my last letter, I spoke of tidings we had received from Erebor. Of dwarves coming to explore the caves behind Helm’s Deep. Of Gimli. And of Droin. His cousin. I confided I was afraid that this Droin might be Gimli’s wife or avowed. You, in your wisdom, thought not, and could see no reason why I should worry so. Well. There was a very good reason.

You also teased me for star-gazing with a certain elf. An elf who you were expecting to come to Ithilien. An elf I am confident has not arrived there, though I suspect others have.

An elf who is currently in Edoras. 

Yes, my sister. We were expecting a party of dwarves; we got a party of dwarves plus an elf.

And now, I think I should explain the stargazing.

It must have been the last night that the King of Gondor and all his procession stayed here. They had been here, all of them, several days, and I remember I was worried how long my small war-torn kingdom would have to feed all these extra mouths. Not to mention the amount of drink we seemed to get through. All the actual business of the visit had been done, your wedding, the burial of our uncle, the ceding of the caves to the new dwarf-lord. Much feasting, much joy. 

I remember that, as is normal on these occasions, there was a fair bit of, well, more personal celebrations happening most evenings, I daresay you were aware of it all too, and I remember being surprised how many of these seemed to involve Gimli. I had always rather assumed dwarves were a private people, not given to such lust. Sorry, sister, I do not mean to offend your ears, but you are no fool. And married now. If I’m completely honest, I think I would have expected it to be the elf working his way through my men.

But, there we are. I suppose any Rohirrim who finds himself attracted to tall, willowy blonds, does not have far to look.

Anyway, that night. As usual, Gimli had left the hall with one of my riders, and I remember noticing the little group of elves. As a king, hosting so many different peoples under ones roof, it is necessary to be aware of any trouble. And that group looked like trouble. Those two from Rivendell seemed to have a knack for causing arguments whoever they were with; I know they are the brothers of your queen, but I would advise you and F to keep a watchful eye on them should they come visiting. But I would have expected Legolas to be able to deal with them; I had heard him hold his own against hobbits, a dwarf with an inherited grudge, Aragorn himself, and I had not forgotten him drawing his bow on me at our first meeting. 

Well, he did see them off. Whatever they had said, they went off pretty sharpish after he had given them one of his haughty elven looks. But I noticed he was drinking pretty fast, even more than normal, and he can certainly down his wine. 

I made my way over to him, and said something; I know I was joking about Gimli’s habit of seducing my soldiers. And when he answered I could see why those other elves had scuttled off. He certainly has a temper and I suddenly realised why; I could see, underneath the anger, the tears. He reminded me so much, and I am sorry, but it is the truth, he reminded me of you at that lowest point. I forgot this was an elf, fairest, wisest of beings, an immortal, far older than I, a warrior, I could only think of what I would have wanted someone to do for you in the like position. So when I saw those two coming back, I remember getting him out onto the terrace; I said something about stars.

Yes, I said I would be grateful if he told me more about the stars. Shows how little some elves know; those two must be fools if they think a man of Rohan, a rider who sleeps under the stars more than in his bed, needs any elf to teach him the stars of his own sky. And, to be fair, I think Legolas knew that too.

Once we were outside, I said something, struggling for words, trying to say I saw what he felt, that it would pass. But what do I know of love? How could I bring comfort? 

I remember wondering why he could not, did not, speak. He was a prince, a warrior. Why so shy? Yet, perhaps he had, I thought, perhaps that was the trouble.

I do remember warning him off wine. As well warn one of my riders off mead, I remember thinking. 

And so I passed the rest of that night out there, on the terrace, watching the stars with him. As host, I was concerned for my guest. As friend, concerned for my friend. As king, concerned that his despair be strong enough to cause him to drink so deep that he wake in the bed of one or more of my less scrupulous soldiers; and I wanted not the elven army of Mirkwood on my borders looking for recompense to an abused prince.

For I did really fear that he was in a fey state, where he might well have drunk more than even a wood-elf can, and in his hurt try, as so many have tried before, to show the one he loved that he was desirable to others. And, as I say, I could imagine the worst possible consequences.

So, that was my night of stargazing, which has caused you and many others such merriment. And I hope you will forgive me for not explaining before, but it was not my secret to share.

And so to now. Now, or more accurately, a few days ago, when we had news that the party of dwarves we were expecting had been sighted. For whatever reason, simple mischief, lack of wit, or poor eyesight, the news did not bother to report the change from the expected party, and it was not until they came right up to the gates of Edoras that I was told there was an elf with them. 

“Not an elf,” Gamling corrected himself, “the elf. The one who was here before, the archer.”

_“Legolas?”_ I asked, for I could not reconcile such a thing with the news your letter had brought of expecting him in Ithilien. 

But there was no time for guesses, they were at the gates, and I had no desire to do anything but go out to meet them. At first, they seemed as they always seemed, those two, friends, yet ready to argue over nothing, for the love of words only. I did not ask, I thought it not my place to question why two friends would wish to keep company. Only, I hoped you were right, that Droin was not the love of Gimli, for I did not wish another sad vigil.

Droin, believe me, is no lady. Droin is, as he said, the cousin of Gimli. They are close friends also, and I think Droin will be a great asset to the new dwarf kingdom. More of that later, I know the question you will be asking first. 

As we walked into the Hall, Legolas spoke to me, saying he was sorry not to have forewarned me, but that “our plans were changed when once we met again. And we find we shall not be separated.” There was something in his eye, and in his voice that made me wonder, but I could see no way to ask and, indeed, it was hardly my place to do so. 

However, our old nanny, who I keep as you will see, not merely for her gossip, was the one to explain to “my lord of Aglarond, your party is one more than we had expected, you must give us time to prepare another room, unless your honoured cousin will consent to sleep in the mess-hall with your other companions, to give the prince his bed.” For she is not one to be backward in speech, nor to forget the proper ranking of guests.

At her words, the dwarves laughed. Droin, who I think has a heart of gold, made haste to reassure her that they laughed not at her, but “at the idea of our elf-prince wanting my bed, when he could be safe in my cousin’s.” And, I turned to see Legolas a most unelven shade of pink. Yes, my sister, it seems that elves can blush as much or more than any maid when such jests are spoken. Even their princely warriors. 

Gimli, embracing the poor elf, and making a hushing gesture at his cousin, said then to me, “I had forgot Men do not read braids, or I would have said ere this. It is indeed as my cousin and my elf say, and you need not trouble to have another room prepared, nor to keep my Legolas company stargazing, Horsemaster.” From which it would seem you were not the only one to find that a source of merriment and teasing.

Of course I am happy for them. How not? They are two who deserve much joy after so much war and journeying. I do wonder what the Elven-king will make of this, but it is not my business, nor my problem. Except inasmuch as I seem now to have them here for some indefinite stay before they go to the Caves, and this elven prince seems to be a harder bargainer even than I feared Droin would be. 

So. There is my news, my gossip. If Legolas is not with you in Ithilien, it is because he is here, making my life difficult, supporting his dwarf-lord. It seems to me quite possible that you will have both of them at some point, and I suspect Gimli will be as quick to defend Legolas’ interests as the other way about. Should there be any interesting or valuable mineral deposits in Ithilien, I fear F may have lost any chance of controlling them.

But, once again, I implore you to help me find a wife. Not only do I feel more lonely than ever with these two so devoted, and, dare I say it, even more given to eye-gazing than you and F, although I would not wish the dwarf to read those words, but the jokes and comments I could hear from my riders the first night of their visit, made me realise just how much we need a queen, a lady of the golden hall. I will not repeat such words to you, but believe me, I must marry. The courtesy of my hall is lessened by such behaviour, yet it is hard for a war-captain, as I have so lately been, to rebuke his warriors over manners. A queen would impose standards without trying. So I tell myself.

I shall look forward to your ideas on this matter, and also to hearing what manner of elves you have in your land. I am told that their leader is “a most excellent elf. Wiser, more valiant, kinder, better in every way, than I”, by one of my guests, “too clever by half, but with a good heart”, by another, and “more cunning, progressive and thoughtful than I knew an elf could be”, by a third. I shall allow you to decide who is correct. Be warned. I look forward to your words on this.

I have acquired a cat. Or possibly she has acquired me. At any rate, a cat there is who now considers the king’s chamber her own. And indeed, the king’s lap, if I am not quick enough to avoid her. I hope she may at least scare away the butterflies........

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

Eomer runs a hand through his hair as he signs and seals the letter. For an instant, he wonders what it would be like to wear braids that tell of your status, your love – or lack of – to everyone you meet. Very odd. Yet these dwarves, and the elf, see it as normal to be so marked. 

He is pleased with this letter. He has managed to include much more gossip, he hopes that will please his sister – he knows she has not been close to Frewyn, but she will perhaps be interested, and Hathryn is popular with all women, and indeed men, he is not quite sure why. Presumably she is someone it is well to keep on the good side of, after all, when one needs such advice, one really needs it. 

One thing he has not thought fit to include – it is not the kind of joke he can share with his sister, married though she is. In fact, since she is newly wed, it is perhaps least suitable for sharing with her – he would not wish to mar her happiness with self-consciousness. And so, he has not added that the main reason he wishes this dwarf and elf would leave, the main reason he has written such a long letter, is that the walls of Edoras are not thick, that the most honourable guest chamber is near that of the king, and that – that he is therefore not getting enough sleep. He is indeed glad they are happy, he just – wishes they were quieter. He desires neither of them, but – he is envious of their joy.

How not, when all he is offered are girls? Girls who dare not refuse their father’s, uncle’s, brother’s orders. Girls, he supposes, some of whom are driven by their own ambition. Girls who are set on to attract the King for the favours it will earn them and their family. Girls who know him not. 

Not a woman among them that he could speak to as to an equal. And, he wonders, what did he do to deserve this? Is it truly so long since he sought company that his people have forgotten what he looked for? I have never been one to value only a pretty face, never one to require of a bedmate nothing more than youth, he thinks, always I have wanted something of affection, of companionship, of conversation. 

Perhaps this is how it is for kings. 

And, for an instant, he wishes his uncle had bid him marry years ago.


	6. Chapter 6

Late Spring 510

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan,

 

My dear brother,

Well. It seems you have an unexpected talent, two talents, for gossip and also for the keeping of secrets. I suppose I should perhaps have known how discreet you can be, when you so choose, for certainly you have kept secrets for both Theodred and I before now. But that your stargazing was a kindness to a love-struck elf, that, I would not have guessed, and I feel now quite ashamed of my teasing. 

Poor Legolas, I cannot but sympathise, and, like you, wonder at the blindness of a dwarf who could fail to see a desire for more than friendship in one to whom he was so close. 

That is a story I had missed, in among all my own concerns. And yet, now you tell me of it, I wonder that I did not see, for such love is not uncommon in our land, bonds between warriors being what they are, and, though we are quieter in such matters, not all ladies who share lodgings do so merely for the protection of their reputation. On which thought, it is not so much Hathryn’s content as Brigita’s that I find surprising; I suppose she is very fond of the children, and how else would she ever have her own, things being as they are.

I wonder though, that the elf and dwarf chose Minas Tirith for their reunion, for to judge by my F, such things are unknown there. Or perhaps hidden, as we have long assumed. Indeed, F’s disapproval was fierce, until I reminded him that, Legolas being an elf, this is perhaps an elven custom, and then of course, it could not but be right. 

Glad I am to know there is a happy ending to that tale, or at least, as happy as it can be for two with such different life-spans. Indeed, I do wonder what their fathers will make of such a thing, for though from his words I believe Gimli to be close to his parents, such news may well test their patience. I do not recollect Legolas ever mentioning his father, though we all knew him to be the King of Mirkwood, so perhaps elves are different in that respect. They live so long, it is likely to be so, I would think. I know not how old he is, but he must be well beyond the age at which elves need answer to their parents, and so perhaps it is that he has little need to take thought for such.

I do like the idea of them arriving unannounced, and staying to plague you, though. As for your warning that Gimli will defend Legolas’ rights here in Ithilien, I laugh. He needs not. This elf sent in place of Legolas, and I must admit that we were glad to have your letter, for the explanation we were offered was vague, to say the least; this elf, is indeed clever and cunning. As for the other words, thoughtful, yes although not always in a way that is to the benefit of those around him, I fear, progressive and with a good heart, perhaps we shall leave time to judge, but Legolas’ praise does not ring true here.

Not, you understand, that I think Caradhil, for such is his name, is wicked, or even malicious, or any such word. Simply, he is not what we expected. He is not a happy-go-lucky elf, he is not one to sing and dream, not one to wander admiringly through the land, helping the plants and leaving. No. This is an elf with plans. At least your dwarves had the courtesy to write to you, and give you time to prepare for a contract. This elf merely arrived, walked in to our halls, after, I might say, reviewing the land and claiming a part for himself, and then, negotiated the agreement at our first meeting. This is now, apparently, a binding legal agreement, which can only be changed by the agreement of the Kings Elessar and Thranduil. In person. 

For, I am told, such is the way of elves.

This agreement which consisted largely of the elf talking, and all around him agreeing, such is the power of his voice and persuasive personality. I fear he may be one to watch.

My dear F would disagree. He, as I have said, has a high regard for all things elvish, and is sure that Caradhil merely plans to keep his own people well. Myself, I am sure he does, but I think, I think he also plans that Caradhil will be well. More than well. I hesitate to say this, I do not imply you should speak of it to your guests, but, if this were your chamberlain running your affairs with so little reference to you, I think you would not be happy. I think if Legolas comes not to Ithilien soon, he will find himself an honoured guest, but no longer ruler. I leave it to your discretion whether this is something you would wish to mention to either of the two, for I cannot imagine Gimli taking such news with joy.

As I have said, F is delighted that the elves plan to stay so long. Permanently, it seems. That their colony will truly be a colony, a land of elves within Ithilien. I find it surprising. It is not as I had understood the arrangement. Perhaps there will be benefits though, for even at the first meeting, it has become clear that elvish women have considerably more freedom and responsibility and, I am looking for a word, parity perhaps? than even our women, let alone those of Gondor. A little change in that respect would not come amiss.

Since I assume that you are no longer star-gazing, or comforting an elf, I am not dropping this tease now, I can assure you, I have spoken to F regarding a marriage.

His immediate thought was that you must wait and see who is sent by fate. I pointed out this was impractical for a king, and he relented. After much discussion, we have thought of a possibility. As you may know, most noblewomen in these lands are betrothed at a young age, and so are not available for your consideration. However, there is one, who was indeed betrothed, but whose intended died. You have met her father, and one of her brothers, and indeed, I believe you may have briefly spoken with her during all the celebrations. Her state matches yours well, and she is fair, likely to be intelligent, and certainly will be educated, and would not expect to be a mere butterfly or house-mouse.

I hope this has whetted your appetite? 

I speak of Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth. I believe you had great regard for her father, who has a name for much sense, and also for being a good warrior and king. If you remember her not, she is comely, in a manner like our own people, yet perhaps with a tinge of elvishness about her, for there is an elf somewhere in her ancestry. I forget the details. But, she was, I gather, betrothed to the brother of my F, to Boromir. He being now dead, and who knows whether he looked forward to the marriage or not, she perhaps would have expected to marry F, for that is often how these things go. Clearly, that is not going to happen, so the poor girl is left unwed. So say the men. Possibly she is not too distressed by this, I do not know, but, life being as it is, I would say you would have a good chance with her.

I assume you have no reason that her father would dislike you, nothing untoward which you have said or done in his presence? 

Anyway, for what it is worth, that is the best idea we have come up with. Should it not meet your approval, or should you not meet her father’s approval, we will have another think, but there is no other who stands out.

Now, I long to hear more of your unexpected guests, and of how the dwarven colony progresses?

Our elves, who are clearly not our elves, being very much Caradhil’s elves, seem very content, and settling in nicely in the area of land they have claimed. They say that they thought no-one else would want that area, although I think they are being disingenuous, as it is good, fertile land, near the river, with many well-grown trees. I am surprised how little they seem to actually do, yet the settlement begins to grow. I imagine dwarves may be different? 

I look forward to your next letter, brother dear, and to hearing if your marriage plans progress? Also, more of the story of Bramling, poor soul, I do not trust that Frewyn, she is a sly creature, all charms and prettiness. And of course, your cat. I need her name, her colour, her habits, I need to picture you curled up with her........oh my dear brother, that has made me very happy.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

Eowyn smiles again, that is indeed a lovely picture, her war-like elder brother curled up with a cat. Lovely and at the same time, she supposes, a bit sad. Poor Eomer. It does not sound as though he really enjoys his kingship. Perhaps Lothiriel will cheer him, if that wedding comes off. She is Faramir’s cousin, so she must be pleasant enough, and unlikely to have any very odd customs. Surely. 

However, these elves – they are a worry. Eowyn does not trust their schemes at all, and there is precious little she can do about it. It is the one subject on which she and Faramir do not agree, and all her words are in vain. He will not see sense. She knows it is partly because he has never had to live with the creeping danger of an enemy presence in your kingdom, in your palace, but – she wishes she could make him see the danger. These elves are up to something. Little as she really looked forward to seeing Legolas, now she wishes he was here – she felt he was a little easier to read than these Silvans. Perhaps when he comes – and he will bring Gimli with him – perhaps then she will be able to find out what they really plan.

In the meantime – she will have to make the best of things. After all, she has a devoted husband, a pleasant land, a dear brother to write to, and – thanks to the grace of the Valar, and the skill of certain ladies of her brother’s court – no child to prevent her riding out as often as she wishes.

If those rides often take her near enough the elven settlement that she can keep an eye on what is happening – what of that?


	7. Chapter 7

Summer 510

 

Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien,

My dear sister,

I must apologise, I must most sincerely apologise. I have not written to you for too long. I have been busy. I have taken your advice, I have written, or rather my advisors have written, to Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Indeed, when once I read your letter, I wondered how I could not have thought of the girl before, but, although I liked her father, and had even met her, I did not bring her to mind. 

I will not tell her that, no, I am not so foolish. For, her father, it seems, did not dislike me, and so we are to be married. Wish me luck, sister. 

I shall need it.

I do not ask you to wish me joy, for I doubt there will be such joy for us as I saw in your face on your wedding day. Certainly, there will not be that sort of joy. We are not two lovers, racing to be together. We are two left by war in positions we never thought to be, myself as king, her as unwed, unclaimed. I hope, indeed I hope, we will be able to find happiness of some degree, as friends, as parents of children, as rulers together. 

She seems, from all I can hear of her, she seems to be a sensible sort of woman, with no flightiness, no trailing fancies of girlhood still clinging to her. She seems to have been well-educated, both in booklearning and a certain amount of more practical knowledge, such as a woman must have to run a household. So they tell me. I can only hope this to be true. 

At the least, she does not come to me encumbered by her father, her brothers, her sisters, her uncles, her cousins, and any other relative she can find, expecting me to employ and ennoble them, as any Rohirrim girl would. Quite the contrary, I fear she will feel herself in exile, banished to a strange land, if she expected all the years of her life to rule in Gondor at Boromir’s side. 

That cannot be helped. I suppose she will settle down and make the best of it.

We both have to.

I would indeed love to have you with me on my wedding day, but I understand it may not be possible. For your F will not wish you to leave his side, and I would not ask that, and I suppose he is unlikely to be able to leave Ithilien. Possibly by the time it happens you will not be able to travel so far?

No date is yet set. I do not know whether this happy event is likely to be soon or late. Nor, indeed, where it is to take place. I expect to hear from Imrahil soon. 

I try not to watch for the letter with the sickly gaze of a condemned man.

I tell myself, an elven, or part-elven, whatever she is, brain, will be useful. Certainly the dwarves of Aglarond seem to find their elf useful.

I could wish Gimli had carried off one of my most daring warriors, or, dare I say it, even my dearest sister, rather than this elf-prince. I know little of the wood-elves, but, frankly, I pity the men who live on their borders if they must deal with this prince’s father. 

Still more I pity those men who live between the forest and the mountain and must deal with both elves and dwarves, although I wonder if they can play them against each other, using their well-known enmity. That option is not available to me. I have the twisty long-reaching thinking of an elf, combined with the cunning intelligence of a dwarf, and, to make matters worse, they do not come to me themselves, or even write. No, they send my comrade-in-arms, my friend, Gimli, to me, with their ideas, their demands, and I cannot withstand his determination and open honesty, as he assures me it is all for my good. And he can out-drink me.

I am not foolish enough to try that game with the elf. And that Droin, who I am confident I could drink under the table, is not foolish enough to try it with me.

Life is hard.

I need a part-elf wife.

I did hint, well, you know me, I did more than hint, of your words regarding this Caradhil to my sometime guests. Legolas laughed, and said it mattered not, what did he care who made decisions so long as the right ones were made. He said he trusted Caradhil as “those who are more fortunate might trust a brother or father” which was interesting for the glimpse it gives into the life of the royal family of Mirkwood. But not very helpful to either you, who I assume would prefer to deal with Legolas, or me, who would prefer both him and his dwarf to leave me in peace and bother you. 

Gimli, I think, is less trusting. But, sadly, that does not help. Gimli, clearly, cares little for the elven realm of Ithilien, and cares only that he keep his elf away from this Caradhil. It seems the “brother or father” comparison is only in the mind of Legolas. Gimli seems fairly confident that is not how Caradhil would have things be. Which might be worth us both bearing in mind.

What else can I tell you?

You ask about my cat. She is my cat now, having adopted me so very thoroughly that I feel quite put-out when she has business of her own to attend to and I must sit alone at this desk. I am not a natural writer, and a cat to sit beside me helps. She is called Cat. I did not at first wish to admit how often I needed to speak to her, and so Cat is her name, fooling none but myself I daresay. She is a very plain tabby. Nothing special. Just friendly.

As for Bramling and Frewyn, well, I do not know what you have against the girl, who I have to admit I admire for refusing to be one of the butterflies around me, as I daresay her father would have liked, but it matters not. Erkenbrand has somehow heard of the interest between them, and word came to Edoras that Erkenbrand’s daughter would marry who her father saw fit. At a time of his choosing. I note that the man in question is unlikely to be consulted, and I wonder who he has in mind. I pity Bramling, for he seems very low. I am thinking of sending him as messenger to, I know not, somewhere. Perhaps the Shire. I would like to hear news of my swordthain Meriadoc, and perhaps the journey would cheer Bramling.

Frewyn does not seem affected by the dismissal of her suitor, now I come to think, so yet again you may be right in your assessment of those around you.

On which note, I feel very foolish that I had taken so long to realise how things are for Hathryn and Brigita. I wonder what else happens that the king misses?

I am racking my brains for other gossip, but I have been somewhat distracted.

No, there was one incident. One which I would not, in past years, have related to my innocent little sister, but as you are now a married woman, I feel I can. Do you, by any chance, remember Guthric? You may not, he is one of my eored, I cannot think whether you would have known him well.

He is not dissimilar to many of my men, being one to enjoy drink, fighting, eating, and other pleasures when the opportunity arises. So to speak. I had forgotten, but the night I spoke of before, the night of my star-watching which you have found so entertaining, that was the night Guthric went to Gimli’s bed. Causing such misery to the poor lovelorn elf. 

So far, so not very unusual. I have not tried to keep count of the number of my men that dwarf seduced, and to be fair, I do not think a lot of seduction was required in any case. However, men (and apparently dwarves) being what they are, little affection was involved, and indeed, I am not sure names were even exchanged. Certainly there were no promises, or even hints of promises, given.

Not, I am aware, something you are likely to approve of, but there we are. It was a time of much drinking, following much fighting. That is how men are, and if it is contained among ourselves, with no hurt to women, so much the better I have always thought.

I do not know why I am justifying this. It has never been my habit, not being suitable for a commander, as Theodred would have been the first to say. 

However. When first Legolas, Gimli, and all the dwarves, came here, Guthric confined himself to some rather unpleasant remarks at table, and you may recall my saying that it was time I had a queen to improve my men’s manners. This was why. He was not the only one, although I think he was the most malicious. The others perhaps, were just drunken, laughing, and although I would not want to hear a respectable woman talked of in such a way, I know many less respectable would be, and, dare I say it, I am sure there are plenty of men who would be also. I do not know the customs of elves. Nothing came of it that night, and indeed, it was, I would think, very clear to all where Gimli’s heart lay. 

During the negotiations of this contract, the party, or some of it, has been back and forth. I cannot help but suspect Legolas is not sorry to have a reason to spend a few nights away from the caves, for they are hardly a natural place for an elf. Poor creature. As well send you to live in the stone city of Minas Tirith. What fools we are for love. Those of us lucky enough to find it.

It has become not unusual to have them staying, and so the feasting has become less, the dancing and so on more relaxed. Which is where it all nearly went horribly wrong. In fact, now I think, I believe Guthric’s sister is one of your maidens, and she might have had to come home very quickly.

No, I am wrong. It did not start with the dancing. It started, well, I know not when it started, back all those months ago I suppose. I had not noticed any more unpleasantness in the hall, and had supposed it was mere novelty that had caused it. As I say, I think for most it was. 

Then, not long after I had heard from Imrahil that my proposal to his daughter was acceptable, I was out with Legolas looking at horses. He seems to genuinely like the bloody creatures, talks to them I think, rather than seeing them as a useful means of transport, as any sensible Rohirrim does. Do not start. We have had this argument too many times. You like them, you say all like them, I do not, I say all do not. Theodred always refused to throw his weight with either of us. Anyway, Legolas and I, and a few others, were looking at this crop of yearlings, myself wondering whether such a gift would be suitable, Legolas, I know not, drooling over them in a most unwarriorlike way, patting them, kissing them. Bloody elf. 

I am avoiding the point. It is hard to believe. Suddenly, and I know not what freak of elvish hearing made him do so, Legolas turned to look back up at the Hall. On the terrace there were two figures, one tall, one short. Innocently talking, one might suppose. Were one not an elf. Whatever he saw, he did not like. 

I suppose I should have wondered why he had his bow with him, but it is so much part of him, one does not question it. One does now. I had forgot, in this time of peace, the speed with which he can move when he chooses. Before any of the rest of us had even realised fully that he had turned, there was an arrow in the air, and then he left us. Astride one of said yearlings, unbroken. We others had no mounts, and so must follow on foot, wondering what we would find. 

On the steps of the Hall, we found, an arrow, embedded deeply into the wooden wall at about the height of a dwarf’s shoulder. And, pierced by its point, some scraps of leather, seemingly torn from a glove. The yearling was standing patiently, waiting for its new master, for it will now answer to no other, and I shall see it go the way of Arod I fear. Its master was busy. 

Its master did not appear until the evening meal, and nor did his avowed.

We did not know quite what to think, what to believe had happened. To be honest, I thought it was some argument between them that they were resolving, and best left unmentioned. 

At that evening meal, Gimli seemed quite normal, unperturbed, and ready to continue discussing possible bride-gifts and payment for them. Dwarves are hard bargainers for their craft. I was a little aware that Legolas was, how shall I say, bright-eyed, aglitter, watchful, but, he is an elf. Their ways are peculiar. Then the music started up. And that was an eye-opener, as the halflings would say.

Now, I have seen Legolas dance, and so have you, he is fast, much faster and more skilled, more beautiful than any man can ever be. But. This was different. I know not if he had spoken to the musicians or if they followed his lead when he began to move, but. I am looking for words to describe to such a respectable woman as you are, for married though you be there are things a brother finds difficult. Legolas moved, he danced, well, he danced for Gimli’s eyes. I think that is the best way to say it. I have never before been confronted with such, how to say it, such evidence of what a couple might choose to do in the privacy of their room. And yet, it was not, not indecent. Somehow. 

Gimli watched.

Clearly he had no idea what I was saying. I was tempted to take advantage, to make an agreement by the elven way, of talking to agreement as you say this Caradhil does. But, I found I remembered that arrow.

Besides, I would like to be loved and love in that way, one day.

And, at this moment, in the middle of this, that fool Guthric comes to Gimli, for you know how it is, there is much movement at the end of a meal while those who wish to dance. He comes to Gimli and sits beside him, and makes it very clear how he desires the evening to end.

There was a blur of movement. And then there was a knife to Guthric’s throat, and I have never in all the battles, seen Legolas look so dangerous as he did then. ‘You will not come near my love again. Or I will slit your throat. Do not think I would not do so, for it would be my pleasure. It is only my courtesy to your lord which keeps you alive now. I had thought one warning was enough, but it seems not.’ and then he turned to me, and added ‘your pardon, Eomer king, but I will not suffer this fool to insult me so. I am Thranduilion, I do not share, and I do not recognise other’s laws. If I must pollute your hall to cleanse my honour I will do so.’

There was, as you can imagine, a deathly hush, through which these words carried. The knife was pressed close in to the throat, and I could see a thin line of red behind it. ‘I understand your anger, and pardon your weapon this once’, I said, thinking quickly, ‘but, let it not happen again. Guthric, you had best apologise to the Lords of Aglarond, and then get you gone from my sight, for I deem it is you who has disturbed the peace of my hall this day.’

He did so. And indeed, I have barely seen him since, so cowed is he. I think the taste of fear was too much, and he may leave the court, feeling shamed before his fellows. To my mind, his behaviour was such that he got merely his just desserts. If that had been my woman he approached, I am not sure the knife would have stopped.

I would advise you and F, to keep well clear of all elves. And see that your people do also. They are dangerous. I know F is a great admirer of elves, but perhaps the words of Gandalf regarding these wood-elves bear repeating, ‘they are more dangerous and less wise’.

Since then, we have seen less of the pair of them, which I am not altogether sorry about. I daresay they will be on their way to Ithilien before long.

I wish you luck.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eomer hopes his warning will come in time. He should have written before, he should have told his sister, warned her of the very real danger these elves are. For, presumably, any of them would act so, were their love approached – and if these braids are their only declaration, how is one to know? 

He has been busy, very busy, with the work of a kingdom – and, little though he liked Wormtongue, it is instructive to find just how much that creature actually did – busy with the negotiating of a marriage – and with none he can trust to speak for him, the letters have had to be written by his own hand and in his own name, however against the customs that is, busy with the lives of his court. 

But he should have found time to write of this before. He can only hope there has been no incident at his sister’s hall.

As for the other matters – he is sure she will be pleased to know he is to be married, sure that she will wish him joy, even though he himself feels it unlikely. Sure too, that she will take great pleasure in being the one to have found the solution to the problem of who he should marry. No doubt she will also be pleased to be proved right about Frewyn.


	8. Chapter 8

Autumn 510

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

My dear brother,

I congratulate you on your forthcoming wedding, and I send our sincerest wishes for your happiness. Indeed I do, and I hope, though you do not seem overly optimistic, that you may find love can grow between you, that you need not merely be friends, though I take your point, that friends is good, friends who can work together for a shared goal is much, friends who can build something beautiful, tied by love of their children would be more.

Oh my brother, I wonder which of us will be wisest. You, to enter into a sensible marriage, well thought through, on the advice of many, yet knowing and expecting little, or me, to dive in to what seemed, on the face of it, a not unsensible match, yet convinced it was true love, it was everything, that hearts and souls had found a perfect union. 

From which, you may infer, not all is as perfect as I would hope. We have been married now something over a year, and there is no sign of a child. Now, personally, I would say this is perhaps due to many things, such as much work for both of us, severe injuries to recover from, a change in air, diet, water, all these things which you and I know certainly affect such matters in the breeding of horses, so one would assume people too. However, it would seem that the people of Gondor do not think in such a way. A child is a gift from the Valar, and will come when they send it, and if there is a delay, it may, apparently, be caused by displeasure. Myself, I would say it could be caused simply by the Valar being sensible enough to realise that this land is not really in a state into which one would wish a child to grow up. 

This, it seems, is not an acceptable view for the lady of Ithilien to hold, and I should be more grieved by this lack. That I am not, shows a disinclination to care for the will of the Valar, a woeful lack of womanliness, and, oh brother, I think it best not to repeat the rest. Lest I bring down upon my husband a wrathful eored, and cause, what I think could be described as an ‘international diplomatic disaster’.

Perhaps I should consider giving the Valar a helping hand. Yet, I do not wish to any more now than I did before. I, oh brother, I am not ready. I think you may understand enough to know of what I speak and I do not know where to turn for help. I know that by the time you read this, all may be resolved, indeed I may be on my way home, for apparently that is an option, so the advisors of this realm tell me. Not Faramir, he does not say such things. Yet.

I confess, I am a little afraid. And it makes me think, perhaps you should be wary, in your marriage, that there may be customs we take for granted that your lady will not know, and as she comes to your land, it might be kind to help her?

I suppose such troubles are the lot of any who would marry one not from their own land. And with such a sentence, I try to turn from my worries, which you can do nothing to help, and from your worries, which I can do nothing to help, to gossip. Which may amuse, and instruct us both, in either ways to behave or not to behave.

Poor Bramling. Should you send him to the Shire, ask him to greet Dernhelm’s baggage. I dislike Frewyn because she always seemed to me an empty headed girl with nothing in her thoughts but ribbons and laces, and those who might look at them, but still I pity her if her father thinks he can dictate her life. Hence her empty head, I daresay, for what is the point in her having dreams of her own if she knows well she will never be allowed to fulfil them.

As for your ignorance of Hathryn and Brigita, oh my brother, you are not alone in that. And I doubt they would care one jot.

I did enjoy your story of Guthric, and his torn glove. Foolish lad. For that elf has eyes and ears that will spy out many secrets I think. And he is no mortal, they have strange customs and thoughts of honour, you are right indeed to say more dangerous and less wise. Although, the one we have to deal with here is quite wise enough we find. More of him later.

I confess, that fond as I know you are of Legolas, and his stars, I always found him a difficult one to read, to talk to. I know not why, but I never felt at ease with him. Of the two, I always found Gimli the far more entertaining, and, and I rely on your discretion here, I can understand his, shall we say, romantic success. Not, I assure you, that I would be such a fool as Guthric, now or in the past, but, I can understand those who were. Perhaps because his courage and honour are so much a part of him, as they are to our own people. 

As you may know, the two of them are now in Ithilien, and they talk of journeying on to Erebor for Yule, since it will then be long since Gimli has seen his parents, and indeed his king, and he wishes to have them meet Legolas. Now, the elf is inscrutable, yet, were he not, I would say he is less than keen on this idea, although I suppose it keeps him away from the unfinished caves, which must be worse to him than the well-worn paths of the dwarf homeland, and indeed keeps his dwarf from your riders...........

However, I think their sojourn in Ithilien is proving more complex than they had thought. For indeed, this elf, this Caradhil, this red-haired clever-tongued charmer, is very much in charge of his elves. I was right, when I said that Legolas had best come soon, or find himself an honoured guest and no more, and he did not come soon enough. I think, for himself, he cares not, as he said to you, or he is not going to show it in front of us. Gimli, I think, may feel otherwise. At least, when they have been in our halls, and discussing matters with us, anything that Faramir has referred to as having been discussed with Caradhil, Legolas simply agrees, and allows it by, while Gimli will pick holes in any such agreement. He points out, over and over, that Legolas is the ruler, and all must be agreed with him. It is endearingly loyal of him, but somewhat annoying, when clearly Legolas cares not at all.

I would dearly like to know what the other elves think. 

In fact, I will also confess, I would dearly like to know more of these elves. I find I am interested in their ways. I find, and do not take this as a criticism of our own customs, I find I wonder how they manage their lives, so different as they seem. Indeed I have become friendly with one of the elf-women, one Meieriel. She is, it would seem, the next in command to this Caradhil, and close to him, although not, I think, his wife. Elvish customs are truly very odd, for often it is not even easy to tell which are women, so smooth-skinned as they all are. There are few clues in their clothes or manners, or indeed in their roles. I suppose one should be able to be sure from their words, but I find increasingly that, and I do not know whether this is because they are speaking a language not their own, they do not distinguish between male and female as we do. An elf will say he, yet speak of a woman. It is very odd. Are your dwarves so? I believe Gimli did imply to me that such was the case, but I was unsure how true he spoke, or whether he jested, for his own amusement.

This Meieriel has been truly a comfort to me, for she is very easy to talk to, unlike these Gondor women, and indeed has been ready to ride with me, when it is deemed unsuitable for me to ride with only men, and yet none of these Gondor house-mouses will venture forth lest rain ruin their skirts. She is careful to say nothing that may injure her leader’s plans, but she has passed on some pieces of gossip which I think may amuse you, and make you think, as they have me.

Apparently, these elves had also assumed that Caradhil desired Legolas, at least I think that is what she means, when she speaks of wishing to comb with him alone, and that to gain this was the reason he had agreed to leave the Forest, for apparently he has long been among the most loyal of the warriors, or she may mean hunters, of that realm. She says, and this is so strange to me, that he is older than, and listen, for I questioned her many times to be sure I did not misunderstand, older than our very land, older than our people. That he was born and indeed grown almost to maturity, before that war which in our tales is referred to as the Last Alliance. And that in all these years, he has had no lover, for elves it seems are very peculiar, yet by his care for the prince all had thought that was where his heart led him. So she says. So perhaps Gimli is not as foolish as you clearly think, when he is overly possessive, and keen to keep his love away from our land.

She has also told me of arguments between the two we know, of Gimli disliking some customs, and of the two having to reach compromises. The causes seem foolish to me, mostly I gather to do with the sharing of apples with horses, and indeed that made no sense, or with the lack of modesty among elves. Now, I know that may seem more important, but consider, as she says, Legolas has known these elves, I gather has even commanded them, for many, many years. Longer than either you or I have lived. And in all that time, there has been no modesty, they have seen him, and he them, clothed and unclothed. Yet now, now he is to cover himself as strictly as any woman of our people. The elves do not understand, they feel slighted I think, and although it made me laugh a little, it made me sad also.

For these two, they seem so much in love, they are so joyous when they look at each other, when they share a smile that speaks in their secret language, yet even they, bound as they are by words, by deeds, by love, by warrior’s honour, they cannot always have perfect trust and understanding of each other’s ways. And if they cannot, who have been through so much together, how then can you or I hope to reach such happiness with the ones we marry, yet have not shared so much with beforehand?

I say this, my brother, not to warn you off such a marriage, but to perhaps arm you against the difficulties, to share with you my hard won experience that it is not easy to love, or share a life with one who is different to you in nearly every way.

Yet, I hope, oh I hope, it may prove worthwhile, for both of us. And in writing this, it has caused me to reflect that perhaps more honesty, more openness might be the solution to my woes. I shall try it, at a time I deem most suitable for the exchange of such confessions, and I think, my brother, though unwed, you will know what I mean.

Know again, brother dear, that I wish you joy, and luck, and look forward to hearing of your marriage, though indeed I fear we will not be able to be with you for that day if your bride is to come to you, though if you were to come to Minas Tirith to claim her, we might be able to join you. 

Should your Cat permit such a journey.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

As ever, Eowyn has tried to end on a happier note. This letter-writing is an art, she has decided, and one should try to leave the reader smiling, ready to pick up his (or her) own pen in return. 

Besides, she is still smiling at the thought of her brother with his dear Cat.

There are days when it is almost the only thing to make her smile. For all her light words about the elves – she does not really spend that much time with them. Most of her time is spent with the people of Faramir’s command, and they are not pleased with her just now. it seems that in Gondor, only a woman can be at fault should a child not be forthcoming – which again shows just how far removed these people are from the realities of life. Something no Rohirrim, however noble, is.

She is beginning to think that perhaps it is time to consider a child. She was beginning to think so, before all this muttering started. Now – now she is tempted to be stubborn, to stick to her thoughts, that Ithilien is no place for a child. But – that is a silly way to make such a decision.

No. She must do as she has advised her brother. She must have a sensible, rational, or at least loving, conversation with her husband. In bed. Hopefully after they have loved, but – if as is so often the case at the moment – if it is not to be a night for love – then the conversation must be had. 

Perhaps – perhaps it would be better if it came from a quiet, calm place. Perhaps it would be better discussed while they are both fully awake – Eowyn has no way of knowing whether all men are so tired after love – but Faramir certainly is not one for lengthy conversations then. He is happy to listen, but – unlikely to be able to fully recall the words.

Yes. This must be spoken on. 

All these things – these little pin-pricks – they must talk. It cannot be good to be forever surprised by a new custom she has misunderstood, forever shocking others. She has no intention of giving up all her ways – but – perhaps there needs to be agreement.

After all, if Gimli can share an apple with a horse, if Legolas can agree to bathe separately from his group, surely she and Faramir can compromise over when and where she rides, over all the little things – and come to an agreement as to when would be the best moment to petition the Valar for a child. That is how she will phrase it. Gondor may be wise, but it seems Rohan has a greater knowledge of – herb-lore.


	9. Chapter 9

Late Autumn 510

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

My dear sister, 

Before all else, I must tell you the date is set for my wedding. It is to be in the spring of next year, and, as you perhaps guessed, the bride’s father desires that it be held in the city of Minas Tirith, rather than in my lands. I know not why, possibly he simply wishes to have a shorter journey himself.

It has one great recommendation to me, that my dear sister and her husband might easily be there. Please. I beg you. Or I will have no kin to stand for me, and my bride has, it seems, father, and brothers, and sisters, and many aunts. I will otherwise be reduced to fielding merely my eored, and perhaps a kindly elf-prince. Or my Cat. I hope that your husband will see the trip to Minas Tirith as worthwhile, surely he must have some friends he wishes to see, or supplies to gather, or something? Discussions with his king, perhaps? 

I am, I confess, nervous. What if she hates me? What if she wishes to marry a man of Gondor, as she was always promised? What if she is one I cannot look upon with desire? What if I find I cannot like her, if she should be a fool? What if she thinks me rough, uncouth? She is, I understand, part elvish, and I know little of their ways, and have been content so. Now, I wish I had talked more with Legolas, to prepare me for her differences, though I know he is a different type of elf, but surely he would have been some help?

Your words of the difficulties of a marriage of two who are unlike are not the most comforting to hear at this time. I know you mean well, to warn me that I not take anything for granted, but it has not reassured me at all.

Nor indeed does your news that Gimli returns to Erebor for Yule, since he is the only mortal I know who loves an elf, save of course for the king Elessar. And, I do not know about you, but I feel asking Elessar for such advice would be much more difficult, since he is, how can I say this, less experienced, than that dwarf. Moreover, I think he is now so much the king Elessar that the days when Aragorn and Eomer were shield-brothers are almost forgotten. I suppose I will have to muddle on as best I can.

I do hope your own situation has improved. For what it is worth, I would think that if you are both now healthy, a child might not be such a bad thing. It might help draw you together, give you something to strive for? I know little of the plans of the Valar, but, I think, and I know little of this too, but should not husband and wife be honest with each other? About this as other things? I think, I hope, that is what I will expect and try to give. 

With this letter I send some Yule gifts. I hope they will help make your second Yule with your husband’s people a little more to your liking than the first was. As ever, I would be grateful if, should you send me any gifts, you refrain from the bloody horse theme. They are indeed useful creatures, and I understand our wealth is dependent on them and this must be echoed in the official regalia. But, not in my own things. Please.

I wish you a most joyous Yule, for I fear I will not be able to write again for some time. There is much to be done here over the season, as you know, and I must also ensure the kingdom is prepared for its new queen. And that I am prepared for her.

Wish me luck.

I hope to see you at my wedding, for then it will indeed be a most joyous day.

I have indeed sent Bramling to the Shire, and asked him to greet Meriadoc as you said.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eomer knows this letter is not up to his recent standards. But – he is distracted. He is nervous – about the wedding – about the fact that one of the most powerful lords in his kingdom seems displeased with him – and he knows not what he has done to annoy Erkenbrand so – about the marriage itself, not just the wedding – about whether he will be able to persuade his sister to attend his wedding day – about how it will feel to go to Minas Tirith as minor king of a minor kingdom, not as a war commander, riding in on a heroic desperate charge – about – so many things.

Moments like this, he sits, Cat beside him, and he wonders who he would talk to had he not this furry companion. His horse, he supposes, is the animal most people assume he would unburden himself to, but, unlike his sister, who has ever been fascinated by the things, he is as close to indifferent as any Rohirrim can be. Distracted, once again, he wonders which of them Theodred really agreed with. Another question that will never now be answered. So many. Oh my cousin, I wish we had been closer in age, I wish we had talked more. But by the time I was old enough that the difference did not matter – we were at unacknowledged war on two fronts – and there was never time enough for any of these conversations.

So now – now I do not know who you planned to wed – if you did. I do not know your plans for this kingdom. I do not know if you and Erkenbrand would have agreed, would have argued, or would have had this same silent tension I feel with him. I do not know which of your eored – or another – you were closest to that I might ask them.

I do not even know if you liked horses, truly, or cats.


	10. Chapter 10

What with the winter weather, and the preparations for this wedding, and the ongoing difficulties of having a strange race settling in one’s land, there has been no time to write letters these last months. And so, as he approaches Minas Tirith, Eomer finds his eyes are drawn not to the banner of the Swan of Dol Amroth, to see if he can pick out his bride, but to that of the Steward of Ithilien, to find his sister.

It is, perhaps, not an auspicious start.

However, in their delight to be together again, the two do not think of such things. They are not alone, and so cannot continue their new-found intimacy, born from letters where much can be confessed without the need for speech, but it is good to see each other’s face again. And when Eomer comments that his sister looks well, the blush in answer tells him much. As does the smile on his brother-in-law’s face.

Remiss though he has been, he does remember to greet and bow to the king of Gondor. And the king of Gondor graciously welcomes him to the city.

There is seemingly no remembrance of a day when the horns of the Rohirrim blew, and the blood of the eoreds was spilt without mercy on these fields.

 

 

Eomer has little time to reflect on this, for even as his men are taking the horses to be stabled elsewhere, there is a neighing and excitement. He turns to see a horse he knows, but has not seen in many months – two horses indeed. From the back of one leaps lightly an elf, who turns to help his companion, while the other waits patiently for the bags to be removed – and Eomer cannot but be impressed that such a young horse should be so well-schooled. Freed of their burdens, the two hasten away, towards the stables, and Eomer finds himself clasped in elvish arms, even as his sister is greeted by the dwarf.

“Mae govannen, Eomer, and indeed, it will be a pleasure for our Arod and Rochegen to be with their former companions once more. But – this is your wedding eve. Should you not be celebrating? Or possibly drowning the sorrow of your lost freedom – is that not the custom of Men?”

Eomer laughs,   
“You have some strange ideas of Men, Legolas, if you think I am foolish enough to lament any such loss in front of not only my wife-to-be, but her father as well. Besides, I have seen you – and Gimli – drink – and I am not one to be led astray by your example,” he hesitates, then, “but I would have some speech in private with you, and indeed with Gimli, later.”

The elf raises a brow, inscrutable as ever, and   
“Then, perhaps it would be best to come to our room – rooms, Elessar is so kind, he no longer needs us to share a room, though thanks to the kindness of the queen our chambers are connected,” and Eomer wonders what that means, it does not sound quite – as he would expect, “come drink with us, as old friends will, when the main feast ends tonight.”

 

%%%%%%%%%%%

 

And that, Eomer reflects, was an invitation he should have known better than to accept. Helpful as perhaps the conversation was – and whether it truly were, he will have to wait until later to judge – the price he is paying now, as his head aches, his mouth is dry, and his eyes squint against the light – the price is too high.

His bride does not seem overly impressed.

Nor does her father.

This, he thinks, will not be a wedding day any of them will look back on with great joy. Indeed, it mostly passes in a blur.

 

 

It is much later that he lies, feigning sleep, as his wife – his wife! – does the same, and he tries to order the impressions of the day.

A riot of colours, and foodstuffs, and sweet drinks.

A mass of ladies in court clothes.

Words repeated, spoken, no time to reflect on the solemnity, the irrevocability of it all.

Laughter, jests, made by those not so committed.

His sister, smiling, wishing him joy, patently sincere and honest – as is her husband.

Others – less easy to read.

His high king, so aloof now, so changed by office.

The Gondor nobles, so polite, so scornful of his riders and himself. Good enough to fight for you, good enough to die outside your city – but that is all. 

The Lords of Aglarond and Ithilien – and he noticed the surprise of the high king at that second title, and wondered who was being less than open – the elves – or his sister’s husband? The Lords – inscrutable as they both can choose to be – and suddenly it occurs to Eomer to wonder – at what feast, what ceremony did Aragorn celebrate the joy of these two? These two who fought beside him, walked beside him, travelled long miles beside him, followed him along paths Eomer would not dare to walk. Yet it is Eomer’s wedding held here in state. Eomer and the princess of Dol Amroth – a courtesy to Imrahil, to himself, perhaps, as allies. He wonders – and remembers his sister writing of an unease of Faramir’s. Remembers how important it was not to question how often Boromir visited his cousin, or where they went, or how they lived when they went off – seeing the Mark – as it was called. 

Enough.

His new father-in-law – so proud, so stern – so noble. Not one to laugh and drink with, he feels, though doubtless a worthy ally in time of need.

Above all – his new wife. This lady he has married, this lady he will now be spending his life with. This lady who will, he hopes, be mother of his children. This lady of whom he knows – nothing.

She is beautiful. She has not pointed ears.

She – is probably more learned than he.

She – does not love him. As he does not her – how could they? They do not even know each other.

She seems to care not.

She wants nothing from him.

He did not expect a wedding night such as he would have had were he still Eomer, Third Marshall of the Riddermark, marrying one of his own race for love. He is not that much of a fool. But – he had hoped – there might be – some glimmerings of pleasure for each of them. Not merely this sense of duty done, a task fulfilled. 

He had hoped they might at least lie and talk.

It seems not.

Perhaps – perhaps another night. When they reach Edoras. When they begin to make their home. 

He can only hope so.


	11. Chapter 11

Spring 511

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien to Eomer, King of Rohan.

My dear brother,

I hope you are enjoying your married state. You did not look entirely as though all was to your liking, that morning as you rode away with your new queen, and I find I hope that this was merely the after-effects of wine.

I would not pry, I would not come between you, but were there anything you wished to tell me, believe me I would keep your confidence as you have kept mine. Likewise, did you deem it helpful for me to write to Lothiriel, I would do so, on any subject you think might be of concern, or indeed on none.

It was a strange feeling, to see you ride off, with your eored, your household, your queen, and know I was not to follow. That I would not see you carry your wife over the threshold of our your hall, nor be there to welcome her, as I always thought I would. I had not thought of that, when I petitioned my F to bring me to Minas Tirith for your wedding day.

Nor, I confess, had I thought how it would feel to be so slow, so sleepy as I find I am now, in this third month with child, in the company of so many warriors, and the high queen, who remains as slim and graceful as ever. And childless, my F would remind me. But, there are moments when that does not seem such a hardship, and I daresay there will be more in the coming year.........

Enough. It is my decision, and the will of the Valar of course, and so I will not repine. I shall remind myself there will be joys as well, and, of course it is all very well for the queen who has many years to choose from. We who are neither elfkind nor of the blood of westernesse have not time to wait overlong.

Besides, the joy it has brought to my F, and the pleasure we have had in the getting and talking of this babe must be worth much. I would not risk our life together over a few years more of unencumbrance. Truly. I do not regret it.

I hope all is well between you and your wife. I do not ask details, but I hope you are proving a satisfactory, a pleasing, a delightful husband in every way.

On which note, I noticed that the lords of Aglarond and Ithilien, as they seem to be known, were housed in a suite of rooms far from most other guests. So clearly, and perhaps you will know more of this than I, for they have lodged in your halls, the hints my elf-friend has dropped of Legolas being a true wood-elf in this matter also, with no restraint in his joy as in his drinking, are not without foundation. Interesting they were given separate but connecting chambers though. I suppose that is the nature of Gondor, and indeed, F thinks it a great concession, but I think it would be hurtful to two who had been so close to Elessar in the days of his need.

I would dearly love to know, or perhaps I would not but I am intrigued, what you and Gimli were speaking of for so long, in so much confidence, the night before your marriage. I think, there was a moment when you were risking an arrow or knife, and it was to your benefit that the wine of Gondor is so much weaker than that red Dorwinion, which I understand is favoured by wood-elves.

My F enjoyed very much seeing all his old haunts again, though it brought back the grief for his brother as though it were new. I have not broached the topic before, and I did not think your wedding the time, but I wonder how often you think of Theodred? I confess I do not as often as I should like, for I am busy, life here is so strange, so different, he does not come often to my mind. Yet, I do occasionally wonder if he can see us, what he thinks of the way things turn out. I wonder, as I daresay you have, what would be different in our lives had he lived. For me, it is impossible to say. Would I still have ridden, would I have even met my F? Or would there be no change, save that my brother might have the freedom to visit me? For you, clearly you would not be King. I daresay you would not be married. Unless Theodred had decided to name you his heir, in the expectation of having no child. 

Enough. One cannot tell what would have happened, and if one could, what good would it bring? We cannot change the past.

I wish you joy, again, and would be glad to hear you have found it.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Indeed, Eowyn worries about her brother. For all she was in favour of the match, for all it seems a sensible one, she worries. They are not Gondorian nobles, raised to expect to marry in that way, they are Rohirrim, raised to expect to marry for love, or at the least, for friendship. She told herself that the two of them would become friends – but – they did not look like friends that morning. They did not look like two who had enjoyed their night, nor even two who had laughed in commiseration, or held each other in comfort. They looked – separate.

As for the rest of her letter – she knows it is somewhat scattered, bouncing from topic to topic like a yearling in a new pasture – but – she is finding one of the drawbacks of pregnancy is a restlessness in mind and body. Not that she cannot concentrate, not that she is any less intelligent, any less Eowyn, simply – that she finds little absorbs her. Any thought is only interesting for a short while. And the effort of writing it down – for though readier with her pen than her brother, she is not one to whom writing is a joy – the effort of writing any thought – is dull. She longs to be out, on horseback, moving fast – fast as she can no longer move on her own feet – escaping this tedium of days indoors, days – there is no other word – pottering about, preparing things for an event still many months hence. Yet – it is forbidden by her new peoples’ customs, and – not recommended by her own. A fall – unlikely though it is, a fall is possible – and could be so dangerous to her, and the growing not-quite-babe. She walks, she takes the air and exercises her body – but – it is not the same. 

All day – she is bored.

The nights – the nights are well. Faramir is not one to be foolish enough to believe the superstitions that say a woman should be left well alone during these months, and so the nights – the nights are not boring. But one can hardly write that in a letter to one’s brother.

Especially a brother so newly wed, so clearly not in love – or in lust – with his bride.

Poor Eomer.

She sighs. Doubtless things will improve. Indeed, they may already have done so. After all, it was not an auspicious start to a marriage – the father of the bride almost in mourning, so grim he seemed, and a certain – tension in the air, inevitable with such a difference as there is between Rohan and Gondor, for all their alliance.

No, being back in Edoras is bound to have helped matters.


	12. Chapter 12

Summer 511

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

My dear sister,

I must start by apologising. Again. This time for my lack of letters, which I suppose is the cause of yours. At least, I have had word from time to time that all is well with you, so I hope the babe is growing nicely, and you are not too encumbered, your word, as yet. I shall think of you often, and hope you have all the care and skill you need around you. 

Bramling returned from the Shire with news that Meriadoc looks exceeding well, and is like to be married soon. If only, he suspects, in a spirit of friendly competition with Peregrine who is courting, but not considered old enough (or one suspects, sensible enough) to marry.

As though sense were needed.

It was wonderful to see you looking so happy and so much contented with your husband in the spring. I hope that smile has not faded, I hope he is keeping you well content, and not just because I am given to understand that leads to a better birthing.

~~I hope he is a better husband than I seem to be.~~

~~I hope you are happier than my wife.~~

Of the joyous occasion of my wedding, I find I am inclined to say as little as possible, which is another reason for the lateness of this letter. What can I say? Well, I suppose it was successful, in that I arrived unwed, and left wed. The Rohirrim have a queen again, I have a wife. I think it unlikely I will have many children, but I hope there will, in time, be an heir. Otherwise this has all been for naught.

And why should I complain that every gift my bride brought me had embroidered or engraved or otherwise marked upon it, a fucking horse. Well, clearly, not actually a fucking horse, that would at least be novel. Why, why does everyone assume I must be obsessed with the bloody things? They are perfectly useful creatures, until someone invents or discovers a better form of transport, they are easy enough to ride, to feed, to breed. I know many Rohirrim love them, but I do not. It is as though, I do not know, as though every gift for a dwarf-lord were to have an axe on it, or a forge. And while I admit that the only dwarf-lord I know well does indeed love his axe, and, it seems, his forge, if the amount of jewellery a certain elf was wearing is any indication, it is not the only thing he cares for. Nor would one expect it to be. His clothes, his helm, they do not always have the same symbols, they show his care for other things. Admittedly, mainly elven things, such as flowers or trees, but the point is well made.

I suppose my lack of delight in such carefully added emblems may not have helped the joy of a wedding night along. But, I think the fact that they were so carefully added, added instead of whatever she had put for Boromir, as the only thing anyone knows or thinks they know about me, that hurt unreasonably.

Enough. I am whining again. You will laugh.

But I so tire of horses.

The wedding. You looked lovely. You did not seem slow, or sleepy, or whatever other word you look for. And F looked happy, happier than I have before seen him. Married life appears to agree with you both, and as for your worries of this cunning elf, myself, I think if F does not mind the loss of land, and Elessar does not, and the replanting is going well, and the elves are helpful in their way, then what of it? He is unlikely to do anything very bad. It is not as though he is a dwarf, intent on mining under and around and through your people’s stronghold. I sound bitter.

I should not. We do, as I am reminded, owe those two lords a lot, both as peoples and as individuals. I could however, wish they would take their recompense in a different way. A tribute of horses, a tithe of crops, something like that. Not this never-ending demand for more and more land, and for less and less use by my people of the Deep. 

I have not met this elf, and perhaps that sways me. I do confess though, that I am minded to give him the benefit of the doubt, if only because I rather enjoy the jealous confusion the mere mention of him brings to Gimli. Unfairly, I think, for indeed, elves being as it seems they are, he has no need to feel so. An odd race. Both. I am becoming more used to Droin, that dwarf cousin I mentioned some time ago. Still he is sent to me, or brings himself, with documents, demands couched so carefully as to make disagreement seem churlish, but, I cannot help but like him. He is restful company, he never argues, never shouts, but nor does he look through me, seeking only ways to outwit me, he is kind and thoughtful. Or at least does me the courtesy of appearing to be so.

I find I value that these days. ~~My wife is not so~~

Looking at your letter, old as it is, I see you asked what Gimli and I talked of for so long, the night before my marriage. I will confess, and I hope it makes you smile, though I would ask you not to share it with F, at least not in too much detail. Now, I know, and you know, that I did not go to my wedding as untouched as you went to yours, such is rarely the way with warriors. Although I believe your F may be different in this, and I do not ask, but so enamoured is he of the ways of elves, I imagine he may have emulated them here too. I was confident Lothiriel would be untutored in such things, for she is a high-born lady, and such is the way of the world, and ordinarily I would be confident in my ability to teach.

However. She is, as you know, part-elven, and that worried me. I do not know why I let it become so important to me, but I did, perhaps as a way to avoid all the real problems we face in understanding one another. Gimli, it is only too clear, is experienced enough for any, and, barring the high king, is the only mortal I know who lies with an elf. Regularly. To the delight of both. Believe me, there is a reason they were housed so far from all, and had you been in Edoras when they visited, you would know it. Unrestrained is an understatement. Bloody noisy might be better. Obsessed. I hope you blush not, my married sister, but you did seem to blame the high king for such a precaution, when I would say it was mere courtesy to his other guests. Anyway, it seemed to me that I could do worse than ask for advice. 

I do not think you need the details. I do not think I needed the details. The disadvantage of waiting until I had drunk enough to ask, I found, was that he had drunk enough to answer. In short, elves have pointy ears. For a reason. And, apparently, they have a thing about hair. Which, frankly was all I needed to know, and more than I wished to, having often seen Legolas sit at the feet of his warrior, so that his hand can idly play with both hair and ears. In a purely affectionate way, I had thought. I now hope not to see this again. I will feel ill at ease, and intrusive.

And so now will you.

You need not worry you will feel that way in front of Lothiriel and I. It is very plain to me that she married me because her father willed it, because no-one else had offered, because she desired to have her own home rather than be forever the unwed sister of the future king; for all sorts of reasons. Not for love, which I knew, not for the joy of building a future together as I hoped, and not for the pleasure of children. 

Lonely as I was before this marriage, I am not sure I am not lonelier since.

There is nothing to be done. I suppose we will get used to each other, as contractually wed nobles must. But, should we have children, and oh the thought we might not, that this might be for nothing, tears my heart, should we have children, I will see them wed where they will, or not at all.

This then, is why I have delayed writing. I have hoped to have better news to tell, that all is well, that we have come to understand one another, that I am, as you put it, a satisfactory husband. I fear I am not. And, to be blunt, for having started I find I must pour it all out, and spare not your blushes, Gimli’s advice or no, I am no green lad. I have been satisfactory, more than satisfactory to others. Yet my lady wife makes it clear I am no pleasure to her, that she would keep to her own rooms, not even dining with me, that the business of my household, my kingdom is none of hers. I do not know what other business she has, it seems that that is not for me to know. 

I wish I had spoken longer with her father. Now it is too late to ask such questions. I am indeed tempted to ask you to write to her, but I fear you will get only the same veiled, polite yet distant and unmeaning answers as I am given. Would that you had married within our kingdom, and I could turn to you for more direct help. Yet, had you done so, I would not have needed this match so desperately.

Would that Theodred was alive and king instead of me. Had he decided to go against the inclination of his heart and marry, I think my lady wife in her solitary contentment might have suited him well. But I hoped for more than this. 

Enough. I will leave this, and I will not speak of it again, unless there should be some change, or you should have some advice for me. I cannot believe this cold disdain is a feeling encountered much in Ithilien however, your mutual adoration is too clear.

I should now find you some gossip, but I fear I provide much of it in Edoras these days. Or some other light words to end on, but they too are hard for me to find or to mean.

My wife dislikes my poor dear Cat. Fortunately they need rarely share a chamber, for it seems that the royal family of Dol Amroth are not in the habit of sharing rooms even with one to whom they are married.

I hope all is well with you and the babe. 

Tell me of your people, your land, for I understand now that I will never be able to see them, never leave this land of which I am king.

Tell me more of your elves, they seem so very different from these dwarves I suffer here, that I cannot see how the lords move from one world to the other so easily.

I send my love to you, sister, and would have you know how dear you are to me.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

It has been cathartic to spill out the words on paper. Eomer does not really expect his sister to have any solution, any help to offer, but just to say it – is a relief. He cannot – dare not – say any of this to any of his men. He has friends – at least – he had friends when he was but the Third Marshall. Now – who can be friends with the king? Who can the king talk to about something so – personal? The queen – will be here for the rest of their lives. He is not such a fool as to think any confidence, any oath of secrecy can be relied on to hold that long – and he has no wish to become gossip fodder. 

No more than he already is. Doubtless people know how his wife demands her own chambers, how little time she spends outside of them. Doubtless they know how often he visits her – and how often he does not. Whatever cause they ascribe it to – his neglect, his desire for another, her looks, his ill-treatment of her – none of the possibilities are flattering. And none exactly true. It is more complicated than any of these. But – the Rohirrim are, by and large, a simple people. They will look for a simple explanation. 

He supposes they would be best to consider the simplest of all. His wife does not like him, not in any way, not as a woman likes a man, not as friends, not as work-mates even. And – though he was disposed to try – the months of ice are too much. He begins to think he does not like her either. 

Yet – in fairness – he suspects he does not know her at all.

Even less than she knows him.

Writing to his sister is a great comfort. It is good to be able to speak of his pain, to make light of it, and to imagine her embarrassment at reading of his talk with Gimli. That makes him smile – and wonder if there are any of the elves in Ithilien whose behaviour she will now be reassessing.


	13. Chapter 13

Summer 511

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

See how quickly I return your letter. Largely from concern for you, although also because I am now unable to do much other than sit about and write letters. Apparently Gondor ladies do not ride this close to birthing. I would be very bored indeed, were it not for the company of my friend Meieriel the elf.

More of her later, perhaps.

I am concerned for you. Oh my brother, what a fool you are at times. Your Lothiriel is cousin to my F. Her father is his mother’s brother. And my F is no more an elf than you or I. Oh, I know he will outlive us, he has that long life, but that is all. No pointed ears, no lack of beard, and, had you only asked me, I could have told you that as far as I may judge, he likes nothing that any man does not like in his bed. Poor Lothiriel probably thinks you are most strange. Or, if she is as nicely brought-up as many of these Gondor girls, thinks all men are. I am most entertained by the idea of you what, brushing her hair? Stroking her ears? Oh how funny. No. I am sorry. But really, what were you thinking? I hope you have brought all your, hard-won no doubt, experience to bear to solve this.

Have you talked to her of this? I doubt it is the only thing that prevents all being well, but it is unlikely to help.

I am at a loss as to what else to suggest. 

Is she fond of horses? Can you ride together, away from others? I know, I know you are not overly enamoured of the actual horses, but you enjoy riding I think. Sometimes. I do not know much of Dol Amroth, but if it is like to the rest of Gondor, as explained to me, the freedom and speed of our horses and plains might be much to her liking. A treat.

Have you asked for her help in other matters? She may not realise what you would have her do, how important a lady of the Hall is to our people.

The other thing I cannot help but wonder, is whether there is a possibility that she is already with child. That could leave her feeling low and apprehensive, that life has changed so much, so fast and yet still has more changes in store before she can learn to adapt to the last. Or even, is it possible that someone has said something of the need for you to have an heir, so that any month she knows herself not quickened, she feels a failure? 

I do not know, my brother, what to say. I had hoped, when I did not hear from you, that it was because all was well and more than well with you. But it clearly is not. Perhaps time will help, time and kindness?

So. To cheer you, what else can I tell you?

Not a lot, I think. These people of Gondor are not very energetic in their personal lives, there is no gossip interesting enough for one who does not know the personalities. 

I know. I mentioned to Gimli, that you had told me the story of Guthric, and that he has now left your court, as you said when I saw you at your wedding. The response was most entertaining. 

“Fucks sake, woman,” he said, and I do find his blunt speaking refreshing after weeks of Gondor formality and elven ambiguity, “are you trying to make my life difficult? I do not want to know. Or perhaps it would be as well to know so I can avoid the stupid bloody fool. Yes. I shall ensure I never – never – go to that part of your brother’s kingdom. But do not mention his name to my elf. Or in my elf’s hearing, which is considerably further than you might suppose. If you knew what it cost me to get him to believe I have no wandering eye, you would not bloody laugh.”

From which I gather, although I may be wrong, that not all those jewels are love-gifts only. 

I am glad to hear Meriadoc may marry soon, although alarmed at the idea of more little Peregrines....... I wonder if they will ever journey to see our lands again, perhaps with their wives and children. As I daresay you know, we may never see their home, since the king has declared it forbidden to all Men. Perhaps you should encourage Legolas and Gimli to go there, for the halflings were their companions for many months. That would be a nice long journey, get them out of your hair. I shall suggest it next time Gimli looks particularly impatient with elves. Or jealous. 

On which thought, if Legolas has been demanding these jewels as guaranty, I wonder what Gimli demands. He is far more beset with jealousy, and I would say with more cause. 

Caradhil continues to organise. Everything. In the whole of Ithilien. 

Or so it feels.

Meieriel, who is indeed a good friend to me, assures me that he can be trusted, that there is no elf more sensible. The second may be true, I am not sure of the first. She says he has no plans, that he merely does as seems best at any time. She moreover claims that he is not really the leader, for, and believe this as you will, they have no true leader now. That he is not willing to be known as leader in the usual way, he will act as leader when dealing with outsiders, but any decision must now be agreed by all.

Elves are very odd. I wonder what their king would make of this. But, as you too may have noticed, it is not wise to mention his father to Legolas. His face freezes, and Gimli bristles. I think there is something not well there. I half hinted to Meieriel that I was intrigued by this, but elves are skilled at only answering questions they choose to answer.

I do not know if I will write again before this babe is born, nor how soon after. Keep me informed of what goes on in your kingdom, and your marriage, brother. And think of me.

Wish me luck.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Indeed, Eowyn feels in need of luck. It is daunting to know she has now no option but to follow the course of pregnancy and birth, and with few around her who speak her own tongue, only one who knows the herb-lore, the old skills that the Rohirrim rely on, and she young, untried. It is by chance she is even of their party – but Eowyn will not be letting her go home unless she is replaced by another, wiser woman. She is even led to believe that most Gondor births take place within the healing houses, attended by male healers. Not hers. She has made that very clear. She is a woman, she will be attended by women, up until the point where there is no choice and a skilful healer must be found. She will give birth in her own rooms, her own bed ready for her. 

That is the way of her people.

She has repeated this line over and over.

But, even amidst all this trepidation, she has found time to be very amused at the antics of both her brother and the elves. 

Her brother – what a dear idiot he is. He tries so hard, and yet – perhaps if he but stopped to think occasionally – he might do better. The picture he painted of their wedding night has made her laugh – and yet – she could weep also, for there is not yet a happy conclusion. In time perhaps, she thinks, in time. Surely Lothiriel will come to realise Eomer is a good man, a kind man, and – though there were times when his sister could not see it – not especially unpleasing to look upon. Surely.

As for the elves – they are odd. And that is all there is to it. They have odd ways – she did not want to know about the hair and ears thing, but now she does, she cannot forget it – and as for the jealousy of Legolas – it is not an emotion she has ever felt, nor has she caused it – so she cannot really understand. How can he be so? It is plain to anyone that Gimli lives for him, jewels or no jewels. 

It never occurs to her, in her simplicity, in her self-confidence, in her happiness that not all payment is made in jewels, that the guarantees Legolas needs are not crafted of gold but of words.

It never occurs to her that words are the barriers between Eomer and Lothiriel.

How would it? She and Faramir have nothing of which they cannot speak.


	14. Chapter 14

Late Summer 3021

 

From Lothiriel, Queen of the Rohirrim to Amrothos, youngest prince of Dol Amroth.

 

My dear brother,

Since my husband seems to find it necessary to spend hours scribbling away to his sister, I think I will try the experiment of writing to you. I choose you, of the three, since you are the closest in age to me, and perhaps the one of whom I have least to complain.

I daresay your life continues without me much as it did before. I doubt you even notice your sister has left, little time as we have spent together since you became a man and left the rule of women.

I would ask of you how my ladies fair, thought I that you might know, but you will not. At least, I hope you will not, since if you do it means that the lady in question is a lady no more and will pay dearly for it.

This land is strange. This king to whom father married me, seems so young. So naive. I do not know what he expects from me. I do not know how I shall bear this life. It is so cold, so lonesome here. There is no cry of gull nor sweep of wave. I daresay I shall never again see or hear the sea, and that is a hard thought.

The plains, I know people say the wind in the grass over the plains is like to the sea. It is not. Not if one has seen the sea. It is bleak. When I look from my window, I can see miles and miles of grass. And then some hills. Somewhere there is the sky, but no real horizon, not in the way I know, a line far, far off where sea and sky meet in an endless embrace.

And there are horses. Horses everywhere it seems. Real horses, on the plains, and in the stables, and milling about, and smelling and snorting and dropping hair. And worse. And then also, horses everywhere in the decoration of this place. On the flag, carved into all the wooden furniture, engraved in metal, in the speech of the people, referenced at every turn. I know, I know horses are useful and pleasant enough, but not like this, not all the time, everywhere.

This king, Eomer, my husband. He is so very strange. I do not know how to understand him. From the moment we were first together, I think we failed to make sense of each other. And oh, that moment when we left the hall, to go to our rooms, and I realised, not our rooms, our room. But I thought, it is only one night. All will be well when once we are in his own Hall. How wrong I was. It seems that, in their barbarity, in their poverty, it is normal for man and wife to share a room in this court. Well. No. No. That cannot be. I cannot be expected to have a man in my room at all hours of day and night, at all times of the month. He has no need to be here. Besides, if this were to be, where would he take his other bed-fellows? Surely he must have his own room for those nights when I would refuse my bed, or when he would desire another? 

That argument I have won, at any rate, though I think Eomer does not understand why it is so important to me, and I wonder at this race, that other men must lie with their wives even when there is no hope of a child. I wonder too, where they tumble their paramours? Perhaps they keep to the oldest customs of all, and once married cleave to their wife and lover only, for I already know they spend many days away with their _eored _.__

At first he talked to me of their ways, seeming to ask my opinion, but I am wise enough not to be drawn like that. I made the sensible reply, saying that all must be as my lord husband wishes, it is not for me to suggest or comment. Yet he did not seem content with that, and went on, until I grew tired of such matters, and was forced to wonder whether he wished for something more shameful, that he could not bring himself to ask for. He gave up eventually.

Now we have settled into a way of life. I keep to my rooms, as much as I may, for I have no lady to accompany round and about, and I do not know how to find one. The women here are very ill-kept, and seem to wander about alone. None are helpful to me, none come to me and tell me of my duties, where I should be and when, what the ceremonies are.  
There is no women’s hall. I must eat in with the men, or eat in my room. Of course, I eat in my room. I will not give my lord husband reason to think me uncouth, to send me home.

~~I am lonely.~~

It is quiet here. My tapestry grows apace. Mother would be very proud.

Alas I am not yet with child. It has only been a few months, and of course there were some days travelling to begin with, which can upset the humors I believe. Certainly, I have not refused my husband his due, and he has claimed me many times. At first, I thought it was to be every night until I was carrying, but lately, since things have become accustomed between us, he comes merely two or three times a week. I suppose his lover has returned to court, perhaps he stayed away at first out of some feeling of delicacy. There is no sign of any child here. I do not know what else I can do. I am eating correctly, keeping out of the chill, not over-exerting myself, and of course, welcoming my husband to my bed. Accepting perhaps. I do not know how I would welcome him.

It is not normally something spoken of, I know, but I must confess, I do not see what all the fuss is about. The first time, he tried, I think, to be kind, even brushing my hair, and touching my face before he began. I would appreciate this more, if I did not know that is how the breakers are with young horses before they begin to train them. Beyond that, it was much as I expected. Uncomfortable at first, but one learns to ignore it, and now it is simply something one does. I suppose men must gain some pleasure by it, other than the need for heirs, but I cannot see why. 

I suppose this is my life now. Waiting for a child to quicken. Bearing the child. Allowing it to be raised as my lord wills. 

Perhaps in time I will be able to ask for books.

Clearly I will not send this letter. You would not read it nor care for my words if you did. But the writing of it has eased my heart a little, so there will be more I think. 

I suppose I should burn it, but I am not sure I can. Maybe, I think, maybe in later years it might be interesting to read these thoughts. I shall hide it for now.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Raising her eyes, to look out across these strange grasslands, Lothiriel unconsciously brushes a hand over the paper as though to wipe away the words she cannot write even in a letter that will never be sent. The words she does not even have in her own mind to express the longing, the hope, the disappointment. The confusion. 

Longing, hope for something she cannot name. Something other than this coldness, this silence between her and the king. For that is how she thinks of him, as she has always been taught. He is the king, her husband, her lord. Not one to confide in, to ask for help in this maze of customs she does not understand, people she does not know, words she does not fully comprehend – the Rohirrim do mostly speak Westron to her, but sometimes they will forget and use their own language, some things they have not Westron for, and she is left to guess at meanings.

Small wonder then, that she retreats into pride, into the safety of her isolation.

Better to be lonely and thought proud, than to stumble, to err against custom and be sent away, a failure.


	15. Chapter 15

Autumn 511

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister, 

I write to cheer you if the days before, or I suppose after, the birth seem long and weary. I should have written before, I know I should, but I was reluctant to do so. I kept hoping I would have better news for you. 

I blush at your words. I had forgotten my wife is cousin to your husband, and though I would not really wish to discuss such things with either of you, I cannot but help wish I had, rather than hear the words of Gimli, and now live with the images he put in my mind. Whoever said dwarves were a prosaic race, with little wordcraft, had not met this one. 

As you suggested, I tried to speak of such things to Lothiriel, and met only with assurances that she knows her duty as a wife, and that she understands such things are more necessary to men. From which I take it that she wishes only to, well, to do as required for children. And that she expects me to look elsewhere. Ironically, I think she would perhaps have been happier married to Boromir. 

Or our cousin.

Does your husband ever hint that he knew his brother and our cousin were in the habit of meeting?

Not that it matters now.

I have, as you also suggested, tried to persuade my wife to ride out with me. She will not. It would not be seemly. She, almost I think she thought I wished to find an excuse to consider her unchaste. 

I think she dislikes horses even more than I. Yet again, when I hinted at this, she immediately assures me she admires and sees great value in the strength of our kingdom. I do not understand her. She has no honesty in her. She twists and turns in the wind to face whichever way she thinks I wish her to.

I suppose my kingdom may benefit from my lack of home comforts. At least, I think that is what a certain dwarf tried to tell me not long ago. As I think I said, I find Droin a most pleasant companion when he comes to see me, or when I ride out to his caves. In truth, just as you say elvish Ithilien is the realm of Caradhil, Aglarond seems to me to be the realm of Droin. I hinted at this, and

“Indeed King,” he said, “happy is the land whose king has little else to occupy his mind. There is a reason that Eryn Lasgalen has been so strong this long age, that Caradhil rules that part of Ithilien in truth if not in name, that I am the main force for work in this land. It is something dwarves have long known, that love and work do not always mix. Though I would not say this to my cousin, for he swears he will be one to manage the balance, but,” and he sighed, “I would never have been able to.” 

Something in his eye made me understand he had prepared this speech, he wished to be kind, he wished to help. But it did not. I am no dwarf, or elf. I am a man, and a man would like to think he could have both.

I shall continue to try to talk with my lady wife, or else I will know myself to have failed. I tried also to reassure her that no-one here will blame her should there never be a child, and I don’t know what words she heard, but they were not the ones I meant. Perhaps I had best actually say it, but it is not easy for a man to say to his wife that he has lain with many women yet never had one claim him as father of her child. It is not easy to write the words. Yet they are true, and I suppose my wife deserves to know.

You had best be fertile, or Gondor will begin to think our house is indeed weak. I wish Theodred had left us a child to remember him by, though that was never likely.

I am supposed to be writing to cheer you. I fear I do not succeed. 

Cat has had kittens. She was very large and tired towards the end, but they were born easily, on my bed, while I slept, and she now looks very pleased with herself. I wish I could send you one or two, but I suppose it is a foolish idea. I am sure you have cats and kittens of your own. I am looking for doting homes for them, as I can see I shall otherwise become quite overrun. I find I am a very fond stepparent. There are only three, all tabby, but with such differences in their markings that it is no difficulty to tell them apart. Two queens and a tom, who I may keep, for any kittens he sires will not be mine to house. At the moment, of course, they are far too small to be taken from their mother, but I find it matters to me where they go. 

I did offer one to my wife, but she looked at me as though I had suggested she took a snake into her rooms. I just thought one might be company for her, as they are to me. I hoped that perhaps a kitten might make her smile. She does not smile, and I do not know why not.

Anyway. I hope your child is born soon, and well, and easily. I hope it is healthy, and that you are allowed to be up and riding as soon as you are able. Tell them that you must keep to your own people’s customs or your body will sicken. It may be true. I do not say I hope the child is a boy, for I am not sure what you would prefer. I hope the child is a delight to you both.

Should you need advice, do not hesitate to ask our old nurse to come to you. I do not think the air in Edoras will agree with her much longer. I am sorry to say it, for I am fond of her, but the tension between her and my wife becomes too much. I do not know why.

Bramling continues sad. There is no sign of Erkenbrand or his daughter here, and I would not be surprised if he keeps her away until she is wed. I must find something else for Bramling to do. 

I am very tempted to send Guthric to deal with Aglarond, partly because he might enjoy it if the lords are away, for surely Gimli cannot be the only charismatic dwarf, and partly, I admit, to ensure the lords stay away for longer. I shall not do so, for I fear I would gain myself a name for cruelty when he returned not.

Besides, I remember a night of stargazing, and I would not pain the elf again. Much though I envy them both their happiness.

I think of you, and hope all is well with you. Write to me, or at least send word how things are with you.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

Sometimes it seems to Eomer that he is surrounded by those who are in love. Happily, as the elf and dwarf, as his sister, foolishly as poor Guthric, thwartedly as Bramling, or tragically as Droin. Sometimes it seems to Eomer that while to be happy in love would be best, to feel anything of such a strong emotion would be better than this coldness which he supposes is all he will ever now have. For he has vowed to be faithful to Lothiriel, and he is not an oathbreaker. He will not look elsewhere, he will not allow himself to notice any of the women of his land who would, perhaps, be willing to allow the king to – take comfort in their arms. That is not who he would wish to be.

For the situation between himself and his wife to be so plain that even Droin has seen it and tried to offer helpful words – that is not an easy thing to know. For if the dwarf knows, doubtless everyone Eomer speaks to must know, and in his own mind at least, he has failed. Failed to win his wife’s love, or affection, or desire, or even liking. 

However, Droin may be right. There is work. There is kingship. There is much to do in this land, years of neglect to put right, years of hardship to recover from. 

It will do for now.


	16. Chapter 16

Autumn 511

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

Oh my dearest sister.

We have had your news. I am so desolate for you. I know not what to say.

Beloved sister, perhaps your little girl is with cousin Theodred? He would be most loving to her. Her uncles, together as I am sure they are now, will take good care of her. 

Though I am sure they will be pleased to return her to you when you join them. If she is at all like you, she will be very skilled at getting them to wait on her.

But do not leave us, not yet, my sister, not yet.

I do not know what I could possibly say or send that might in any way help. If there is anything, tell me.


	17. Chapter 17

Winter 511

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

I finally set pen to paper to wish you well this Yuletide. I am sorry I have not written, these months have been long and hard here. You know that our babe died some three weeks after the birth. For no reason which any can discover. Sometimes babies die, I am told. 

I would have our old nurse come to me soon, for I find I need her comfort, and the reassurance that, should there be another child, it will have her wisdom to care for it. There is no question yet of another. I am not able to think of such a betrayal, and my dear, dear F feels likewise. Our sweet girl is gone. 

I have not words to speak of such things. I have delayed writing so long in the hopes that I would do, but I find I do not. F and I can speak together, a little, but only a little, and I am sorry brother dear, but I find I cannot speak to you of this.

Please understand.

I would greatly like to hear from you. Whatever your news, I would not wish you to hold back, either joy or pain. 

In truth, something else to think of would be welcome.

The elves even have deserted us. No, that is unfair. They are simply busy with their own concerns. They are, I think, working at the restoration of the land in their own way, but this is the cold season, and they retreat into their own ways. Meieriel does not come to visit now. I know not why. We have not seen much of Caradhil recently, so I hope that means he has persuaded from us all he could desire, but I suspect it is simply the weather. They are I suppose, curled up warmly, telling tales, and letting the storms pass. Possibly they even manage to eat less this weather if they are not moving much, almost hibernating as squirrels do. 

They are rather like squirrels at times. Living in trees, making a great noise over nothing, darting about quickly. Pretty. 

I daresay lord Gimli would like that idea. I will mention it to him. He has been very kind to us both, in his own way. I think perhaps dwarves lose babes more often than some races, for he knows how to be still and yet comforting. The squirrel idea would make him smile.

There are days when he smiles little. I do not think he likes the elven life in this weather. I do not think he is reconciled to Caradhil. And Legolas does not, will not, see it. I would like to ask Meieriel of this, but I have not seen much of her.

I repeat myself.

I would hear any tales or gossip you have. Send me a letter with our nurse.

And perhaps some kittens. If there are any.

You and I must both take comfort in kittens it seems. And there are few here. None were brought from Gondor, though the people do not dislike them.

Write to me brother.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

There has only been the one letter from her brother in all this weary, miserable, beyond miserable, grief-stricken autumn, this cold, so cold, winter. Eowyn knows him well enough to understand it is not that he does not care, not that he does not wish to comfort her, simply that he has not ready words, he is not that kind of person. And rather than keep writing, saying what may be the wrong thing, over and over, he has written once, and now waits to hear from her, to hear what she would have him do or say. 

As though she cares. 

As though anything will make any difference.

But – he is her brother. Long ago, she learnt that if any were to understand her, it would be him, and while he is no longer the one who knows her best, and who she knows best, he has known her longer than any other. She supposes, dully, that he too may have trouble, though what she cannot at present imagine, he may have need of her. So – as is often the way between them – she will speak first, that he may answer. 

Remembering the ways of halflings, she has tried to find small things, foolish things, to speak of lightly, partly to attempt to lift her own spirits, partly to reassure Eomer that she is not fallen apart, not completely, he need not write in a serious way, just – write.


	18. Chapter 18

Winter, early 3022

 

From Lothiriel, Queen of the Rohirrim to Amrothos, youngest prince of Dol Amroth.

My dear brother,

I write to you again. Or I pretend to. My lord husband is closeted in his room, writing to his sister again. She has had her first child die, so I suppose he sends her advice on how to prevent this happening again, and exhortations to try harder next time.

I cannot think he has much knowledge of such matters, being a man. Although in this strange land even noblemen do seem to spend time with children and babes, even carrying them around, rather than waiting to train up their boys when they come out from women’s quarters. Of course, in their poverty and shamelessness, they do not have women’s quarters.

They are indeed shameless. I recently found that there is a woman in this court who has children by many men, and that all those men will play father to any of her children when she asks it. Not only this, but she is held in perfect regard by all, even though she and her brood live not under the care of any man, but with another woman. Who is the healer, while she herself is dressmaker for many respectable people.

I do not understand these people.

My husband may not now be writing to his sister. He may be playing with his cats. He seems obsessed with the creatures. Cats, like horses, are useful animals. They kill vermin. Beyond that, there is no reason to spend time or effort on them. Yet, when his pet gave birth, on his bed, his bed, and he laughs at this, he would have had me take one of the creatures into my rooms. I thought at first he was hinting that my rooms are ill-kept, dirty, verminous, but I think he did not. Strange as it seems, I think he may have been trying to be friendly.

In his efforts to seem so, he has even hinted that he does not much mind whether there are children from me. I suppose he must have a horde of bastards elsewhere. Which is perhaps unfortunate, since at last it seems I am with child. I have not told him yet, and of course he does not realise. How could he?

I have not told him because I am reluctant to admit that there is now no way back from this marriage. I will never go home. I did not think I wanted to, I thought that to be sent away would be the worst disgrace. It would. And yet, now I find that a part of me was indeed hoping to be able to see my home again.

Even to see you, the brother I have never spoken to of anything truly important.

I wonder how this letter will read to me when the babe I carry is a man. 

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Lothiriel stops writing, for she finds she can no longer see the words clearly, her eyes are blurred with tears. She blinks hard, and stares upward, willing them away. She is a princess, daughter of a prince, a queen, wife of a king, albeit a strange king of a strange land. She must not cry. She has no business to be crying.

She is married and with child. That is good news, the best. The achievement of every woman’s goal surely. Almost – a safe delivery of a healthy boy would be that, but this is a necessary step on the road.

Why then would she cry?

She reminds herself she never expected to go home. She was never reared to expect to go home, never allowed to forget she was promised from birth to marry a stranger, and go to his land, and never come home again. But that stranger was a cousin, his land not so very far away, not so very different to her own.

Still, she tells herself harshly, things could have turned out much worse. Suppose she had married Boromir, and then he had the king had come again – the tidings she hears of the land Ithilien do not leave her wistful for that. suppose she had married Boromir and he had then died – no woman wishes to be left a young widow with children, useless and dependent on her husband’s family, nor a widow without children, returned to her father with far less value, doubtless to be married off to some elderly retainer looking for a nurse. Suppose Eomer had not married her – then she would be left in her father’s house, unwanted, unmarried – to be finally married off to some elderly retainer looking for a nurse. Suppose Eomer were a cruel man – then she would be far more miserable.

She should be happy with her lot. Content, anyway. But it is hard, for truly, this land seems more and more strange to Lothiriel with every new custom she learns, with every month that passes. Less and less like somewhere she can call home, even as she begins to realise that it should be, that there is nowhere else for her to go.

This will be her child’s home. His birthright. She does not allow herself to consider the possibility the child might be a girl, that all this sickness, this discomfort, this looming encounter with the birthing chamber – for Lothiriel has been carefully brought up, she knows to dread it – might all be, in the end, for naught save to give her king a pawn to use in marriage alliances. Or, worse still, to be one of these uncouth shieldmaidens that this land boasts. No. This must be a son. A son to protect and guard her honour when these strangers would besmirch it, a son to give her a home when Eomer is dead. An heir for her king as he needs and desires of her.

In which she does Eomer a disservice, for he would consider any child of his an heir. At least, a daughter would be heir until a son was born.

One other thought encourages her. When she finally nerves herself to tell her lord that she is with child, she will be free of the need to allow him in her bed, for a few months. Perhaps from the demeanour of the ladies of court, or of his loyal horsemen, she will be able at last to discover which is his lover. For, while she feels no jealousy, she would like to know, that she can be prepared for the battles for favour, for inheritance, which are sure to come.

It never occurs to her that there is no lover. How would it? That is not the custom of the land she was born in, and none has told her that in this too, this land is different.


	19. Chapter 19

Winter, early 512

From Eomer, King of Rohan to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

My dear sister,

As requested, I send to you our old nurse, and two of my Cat’s kittens. Well, they were kittens. They are the two queens, and each is pregnant. I have instructed her to acquire at least one tom in Minas Tirith, that you will soon have a breeding population. Will that not be nice? I am sure the journey will seem long to those who travel with my dear cats, but I trust that they will entertain you, and comfort you a little.

Or, distract is perhaps the better word. I do not urge you to forget your little girl, nor to think of the next, nor any such thing, as I am told that is the worst thing to say. I do urge you to cling to your husband, and allow him to cling to you. I am sure you do, the two of you are so much in love, but I worry. I would not have you fall into the coldness of a convenient marriage. I hope the spring weather will start to cheer your hearts a very little, and perhaps being able to ride out, to see your elves will ease your mind?

Now. I have news. I beg you to forgive my timing. But I would not have you hear this from any but me. My wife is with child. I think. She has not told me so, but I am no fool, though she seems to think I am. She is never one to allow me in her bed when she has her flux, yet she has not kept me from her rooms these ten weeks. She is not one to lie, not outright, I will allow that. Yet she does not tell me what she must know I wish to hear, even though half the court is speculating at her changes in appetite, her late rising, her weariness. I do not know why she does not speak to me. I do not know if she expects me to speak to her, or if she waits for an auspicious day, or some such. 

A part of me fears she has reason to doubt my joy. But that cannot be. She is not one to even speak to a man if she can avoid it, and, I do not think she is even aware there can be pleasure in bed. And do not take me to task for this. I have tried, believe me I have tried. It is not easy to please someone who clearly has no interest, who is bored, who resents you.   
Doubtless you do not wish to know this. But I have no-one else to tell. Oh my friends, my eored would listen, would advise me I am sure, would sympathise, would perhaps offer comfort or suggest those who might. But Lothiriel is their queen. It is not fair on them, or on her, to have that conversation. And so I do not.

But why does my wife not speak to me?

Anyway. I suppose by the time I next write, I will know. I tell you all this, because I do not know what our nurse will say to you, and I would have you hear some of my side. I cannot tell you my wife’s, and I dread to think what Hanmah will tell you.

As you may know, we have seen no sign of the lords of Aglarond recently. They are, as you say, being squirrels, I suppose. Droin I have had regular meetings with, and he changes not. I would still like to be able to refuse him some of his requests, but I have not the skill. He is now my friend. 

Guthric continues sulky. I have mentioned my threat to send him to Aglarond to Droin, and I have been strongly advised against it. Droin clearly thinks this would be disastrous, and I suppose he is right. I must find something for Guthric to do. Or someone. I think he is lonely, in fact, I think he thought or maybe still thinks, that he loved Gimli. Fool, to continue where there is no hope, to act so, but I think that may be at the root of all this trouble. He is sad, and it eats at him. I have no idea what I can do about this. I did ask him if there was anything that might help his temper, anywhere he wished to journey, any task and I got no reply. I am not sure as king this is really my role, but I suppose sometimes it becomes so. Certainly his whole eored has come to me, one by one or in small groups to ask me to find him another to join. Any ideas dear sister?

Bramling I have given responsibility for the southern reaches of our land. It keeps him away from Erkenbrand, and his daughter, and busy, and throws him into the path of many young ladies. Hopefully he will turn his thoughts elsewhere, and in the meantime, I trust him to do well by the land. He is a competent, and capable person, I do not know why Erkenbrand is so against him really.

I do so hope that you and F are, I have not the words, beginning to find a way to continue?

Take care of each other, and yourselves, my dear, dear sister.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

Ridiculous though sending cats so many miles is, laughing-stock as it may have made him among the men of Gondor, Eomer is delighted to have had something to be able to do, something to send, something within his power that his sister could ask. That the other request was also a relief to him, to send Hanmah, is a thought which brings him shame, for he knows he owes the old woman a lot. She was kind to him and to his sister when they were small children, orphaned and lost, new to the court, and in great need of comfort. Yet, rightly or wrongly, she has fallen out with his wife, and he does not know why, so how can he judge who to support in this? His sister’s need has been an excellent reason to divide them, ironic though it is at such a time, when at last, at last, it seems he will have work for her to do. 

But one thing is clear to him. Lothiriel, though she speaks of it not, is pregnant. He should be kind to her. If her requests are not impossible, he should grant them. Besides, Hanmah was clearly delighted to be sent for, delighted to go, and full of plans to make Eowyn smile. Himself, he is not so sure that childhood food and gossip from Edoras will accomplish this, but, it may. He knows little of living in a strange land.

Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps Lothiriel has someone she would wish to have visit. He will suggest it.

When she tells him she is with child.

Again his thoughts come back to this. Why does she not speak to him? What kind of wife would not wish to share this with her husband? The only answer he can think of is – an unfaithful one. But – he cannot believe that of her. She is not one to look at men, to even be aware she might wish to lay with another. At least, so he has thought. 

Surely she is not that deceitful.

No.

Then why does she not speak?

He shakes himself, not wishing to go round this circle again.

No. The only way to deal with this is to speak to her. He must do so. Tonight. He will go to her room, and he will ask her. She has had no flux, she must know what that signifies, why does she not give him the best news any husband could hope for? He braces himself, fearing some conflict, yet determining not to falter, as he would not falter from an oncoming battle. 

Honest and true, Eomer may be, gentle of hand, and straightforward, he is, but he is not practised in dealing with complex emotions, not one to go slow and softly. For all his love of his sister, and hers for him, they have not been ones to talk in such a way over the years – they never needed to, for each felt the same anger, the same grief, the same powerlessness as their parents died, their uncle fell apart, their cousin was killed, their land ravaged by evil without and treachery at home. They needed only to speak of practical matters, and though they begin to learn to write of emotions, speech is another matter.

 

And so he goes to Lothiriel, not as one who would talk and listen, but as one who would have the truth set out plain, and would speak plainly in his turn.

It is not the way of Dol Amroth.


	20. Chapter 20

Spring 512

 

Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

I thank you for the cats. All fifteen of them, that we now have, and I am sure all the others that are to come. I shall have to see if I can persuade the elves to take some, I suppose. Perhaps. They are said to be fond of animals.........

Nurse is actually a great comfort, and some help in small ways, and has not gossiped about you or your wife at all. She purses her lips when I ask, and will not be drawn. Whatever went wrong between those two, I shall not hear it from her.

The elves are out of hibernation now, and I suppose the lords will be on their way to you later in the season. I do not know. We have not seen them, only Caradhil. He seems to have a spring in his step that has not been there before, although when one of our ladies asked if he were in love, he was as blank as ever, and claimed not to know the meaning of the word. I think she was half disappointed, and yet half relieved, for he is, I have come to realise, oddly popular with the ladies of Ithilien. I am not sure why, I find him over-confident and too sure of himself. He is over-rewarded for his role, overly sure of his charm, and above all, overly often in our halls demanding more.

Yet these Gondor women see only his looks, which I suppose are well enough, but he is an elf, of course he looks well, his fluency with words, again, he is an elf, and his care for his prince. Which I cannot disparage. Except to say that he cares so well for him, his prince need never learn to rule. Again, in elves, that is not a problem. This prince will not become a king, I believe.

I sound bitter. I am not cheerful of late, as you will, I hope, forgive. Neither of us finds the loss of our daughter become easier to bear with time. Perhaps given enough time we will. I hear your words, and we do try to cling to each other, but it is not easy. I told F of the sweet picture you had painted me of her uncles caring for her, and found that he had not even known they were friends. It seems Boromir was very careful what his young brother knew. I suppose, poor man, he had to be very careful what any knew. Those days he spent with Theodred must have seemed like a dream, when once he was back in the stone walls and rigid ways of the city. No wonder he was always impatient with us, had no time to talk, to sit. No wonder he wanted only to be with our cousin.

I did not speak of all this to F. I realised how hurt he would be, and how deeply, deeply shocked. How he would struggle to reconcile the valiant warrior he knew, with the truth. He would not see it as we do, and I know not how much it would hurt him, for they were desperately dependent on each other, their father being the way he was. But I have seen how difficult he has found it to reconcile his knowledge of Legolas’ skill in battle with the sight of him with Gimli, and I would not hurt his memories of his brother so. Or, more precisely, I would not hear him simplify and assume that as his brother was like Gimli, a true warrior, so our cousin must have been as he now sees Legolas, one who merely played at fighting, and cared more for home comforts and pretty beads. I do not say that is how the elf is, you understand, although he has moments, but I know that is how F sees him. I notice how he almost never speaks to him of serious matters, but only to Gimli, or Caradhil. Fortunately, Legolas finds it amusing, as do they. 

I drift. I am straying from your most important news, for I do not know quite how to respond. I hope you are correct. I suppose you will know by now. I imagine if your wife has been slow to speak it may be that she wishes to be quite sure. Or that she is not entirely certain herself, you might be surprised how uneducated some of these Gondor types are. Or perhaps it is simply her custom.

I am now going to answer your unspoken plea. I do not know how you can begin to please your wife. If she is with child, I suppose she might be grateful for tenderness? But, as I say, the lack of knowledge of some of these city ladies is shocking. She may not be aware there can be joy in bed. Have you asked her? Talk. It may work.

Nothing else seems to.

I will wait to hear more from you soon. I would not say I am quite so desolate as I was, neither of us are, but this is not a happy time. F is very busy, and I find things to do. Still no sign of Meieriel, and I miss her. I do not like to ask, in case she is busy, or simply bored of me. Do not you tire of writing to me, I enjoy your letters.

Your kittens are, as I said, thriving, as are their kittens, and I am sure they would send their love if they could. 

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Reading what she has written, Eowyn finds she is surprised by herself. Surprised how almost cheerful the letter sounds, that although each word is true, the picture it paints is so false, so hides the aching loss that colours every moment. Surprised that she is attempting to advise her older brother how to please his wife. Surprised she has begun to believe that there are some things, some matters that cannot be talked of between her and Faramir. Not yet, anyway, she corrects her thoughts. One day, one day they will have progressed to a point where there are no divisions, no misunderstandings left.

Truly, she has found it a great comfort to have Hanmah around, especially now she seems to see less of Meieriel. She may have lived among these people for over two years now, but she is still no closer to becoming friends with any of the women. There is no hostility, at least, no overt hostility, they are all very polite, they hardly ever drop into their own tongue when she is present, but they seem to talk of nothing all the time. Of children, of clothes, of light matters. She thinks with longing of the weighty conversations and business of men, things which Faramir will discuss with her, but only in private. She understands, how not, that much as he values her advice and judgment, this is his first command under the new king. His first command of more than fighting men. He wishes to be seen to rule. And, he has admitted, were he known to listen to his wife, it would do both of them harm. He would be seen as weak, as less of a man.

She – as a potential enemy, working from within for the interests of Rohan.

In time. In time, it will be possible to change such thoughts. So they hope.

For now – the only ones who are happy to discuss such matters with her, are the elves – and Gimli. They both feel outnumbered at times, they both know what it is to live among folk who are not your own – they both struggle with Sindarin. For when the elves come, they use their own tongue to each other – and the Gondorians are fluent also. Faramir has arranged for Eowyn to have lessons – he tried to teach her, but – the lessons degenerated into play. The language is so difficult, so full of rules, and rules upon rules, and other rules, that Eowyn cannot believe any speak it by choice, cannot believe it could have grown so, it must be designed that way. Gimli agrees. He is definite about it, saying that “the bloody elves have made it up, put in extra difficulties for those mortals, like us, foolish enough to wish to learn”. 

Still, she notices, he is learning faster than she. Apparently dwarves are “a trading people. We have to be skilled at languages. But – don’t tell my daft sodding elf. I am happy that he thinks he is the only one to teach me any words. There is a wager riding on this, and I – I intend to win”. 

From the look in his eye, Eowyn suspects the prize is – something Gimli much desires. She cannot imagine what that could be that he has not, nor, indeed, does she wish to know. But she wishes she had proposed a similar wager, for her language – her language is difficult. And there is no other for Faramir to learn from.

But, on reflection, they are not a pair much given to competition.

It never occurs to her to wonder if her dislike of Caradhil is her own, or her friend’s.

It never occurs to her how much of the speech of men is repetitive, is light, is but jostling for place and position. That in truth, matters of women’s looks, of kisses won, of gambling or of drinking prowess, are no more weighty than those things of which women speak. Except in the minds of men.

That if the elves join in neither – it is because they have their own way of ordering themselves, concerned as they are with braiding, with combs, with song.

No difference.


	21. Chapter 21

Early Summer 512

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister, 

I hope the kittens and cats continue to thrive. I wonder if you have managed to offload any on to the elves? Perhaps you could make it a condition for Caradhil, next time he asks some favour......We have not seen the lords of Aglarond here, I do not know if they are with Droin, we have not heard from him either. For which I am grateful.

My dear wife is indeed with child. In the end, I asked her. And, you will not believe this, she was horrified I had realised. Apparently, she did not expect me to know how these things proceed, and I fear I have lowered myself to the status of a farmer by reminding her that the wealth of this kingdom is built on horses, and I would be a fool if I could not take the lessons learnt in breeding them, and apply them to my own life. 

It was not a very happy conversation. Not as I pictured it might be. I gather she is pleased to be fertile, as indeed am I, yet, not pleased that she will be staying in Rohan for the foreseeable future, that her child will be tied to this land. Breeding does not seem to suit her, she is very unhappy, and sick I think. I have asked her if there is anything that would cheer her, and had no response. I have sent Hathryn to her, as the most experienced healer, and she sent her away at first, as not being respectable.

That was not a happy conversation either. She clearly dislikes many of our ways, and is shocked by the others. She had better get used to them, no child of mine is learning any other customs. It is my child. She is very definite over that. Which I am glad to hear.

I have not tried tenderness, nor talking so openly. There has not really been the right moment. I will bear your suggestions in mind however, should there ever be a good time to put them into practice. At the moment it is more like negotiations with a rival noble. I begin to think that is how she sees our marriage.

I hope your friend Meieriel has returned to you. Perhaps as an elf she found the sight of grief difficult, for I suppose they may not have much knowledge of such things? I enjoyed your description of Caradhil a lot, and I will bear it in mind when next I see Droin, who is unaccountably fond of him, although he does call him a “bit of a rascal” which I am not sure how to interpret. 

I had not stopped to think about the ways of Gondor when I spoke of our cousin and his Boromir. I do hope there have not been any arguments between you and F over this. Neither of them would want that I am sure. As you say, poor Boromir. It was difficult enough for Theodred, knowing the two of them could never really be together, simply because of duty, and he had not the need for lies and secrecy. No-one would have expected him to marry, nor to court a woman, unless it were open and acknowledged as a desire for heirs only. I admit I assumed he would have found another friend among our people eventually, and of course that would have hurt Boromir desperately. These city customs seem odd. 

You do not say it, but it is fortunate that Legolas finds Faramir’s attitude amusing. He is the prince of those elves, and could probably make life very difficult for you.............

You do not ask, but I will tell you anyway, Bramling seems to flourish in his new command. I suspect I will soon hear he is to be married, as he is clearly of a mind for such matters, and is popular among the folk in that region. I have heard nothing from Erkenbrand of his daughter, so I hope she also has found a new interest. You seem scornful of her, but it is not her fault she has never been allowed to develop any independence, but must rely on scheming and coquetry. I do blame Erkenbrand, but sadly he is so important to my kingdom, and has performed such great service over the years that there is little I can do to remonstrate. Were I to speak to him, he would laugh, and tell me I know nothing, being young, and having no daughters of my own. 

I am afraid he would also point out that my house is not known for controlling our womenfolk, and point to you as an example. Of course, it should be easy to say that I never wished to control you, but he would never listen.

I ask again for ideas for what to do with Guthric. His condition seems to go from bad to worse. He is morose, lethargic, and uninterested in life it seems. In fact, were he an elf, I fear he would fade, I do not think men can do this, but I begin to wonder. It puzzles me. He did not seem so sad before the dwarves came to Aglarond, when we thought we might not see Gimli again, I do not know why so different now. I wish I could help him, as I said not only for his own sake, but for that of his eored. I will have to remove him, and send him to his father’s croft soon, for I do not think he is up to fighting fitness at present.

Cat seems well on the way to more kittens. She appears to be a good parent, and very fertile. I suppose she is well fed and has little worry in her life. I do not know what I should do without her company at times, especially as my wife seems to have decided I need no longer visit her bed.

I hope to hear from you soon that all is well. Or as well as it can be.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Reviewing his letter, Eomer almost smiles. It is ironic, he thinks, that the things that seem the hardest to him are the things it never would have occurred to him to think of as being part of a king’s duties. All this worry over the loves of one or two of his people. It seems ludicrous, surely there are more important things to be thinking of. There are. But – he does not find them as complicated, as difficult to deal with. Harvests, disputes over wandering animals, thievery, battle training – perhaps it is that all that he has dealt with before, perhaps it is that all these things do not change much, year on year, there are clear precedents, this is the way things are done, so this is the way we do them now. This is how a king should act. 

So – did his uncle ever concern himself with his people in the way that he seems to be drawn to? Or is this a new thing? Is this his fault, that because he never truly expected to rule, he allowed himself to become too close, too concerned, too easy to approach when he was but marshall of one eored – and now does not know how to distance himself? Is it the mark of a good king, that people come to him, expect him to help them? Or is it a sign of weakness?

He does not know. He does not know how other countries conduct themselves. He has half-spoken of this to Legolas, after all, he is a prince, one would think he might know, but, in the way of elves – he gave no clear answer. It depends, apparently. Legolas’ father, and indeed Caradhil, know all that concerns every elf in their respective kingdoms – and Eomer noticed but did not comment on the comparison, did not ask if it is true that the lord of Ithilien is lord only in name – but, “that is the way of elves. We talk. Too much, I daresay. Our kings – our kings are so much to their people. Our kings, our kings are not like the kings of men, I think, not ones to have favourites, close companions. Wives or families.” And saying this he looked away, as if realising how much of the truth of his life he revealed, before looking back, raising an eyebrow in that way Eomer has come to recognise as a signal to encroach no further, before laughing lightly and turning from his own customs to others; “However, the same is not true of dwarves.” It would, Eomer gathers, be unheard of for any dwarven king to know much of his subjects’ lives, beyond what is known to all, unless it is a friendship formed before he becomes king – “and even then, were he to advise, or intervene in any way – it would be the greatest offence imaginable. Dwarves are very odd.” 

All of which is no help, and no guide to Eomer. 

He cannot but fear it is his own situation which makes him a prey to all this. That it is all too clear to any who look that the king has no joy in his marriage, and is therefore all too likely to sympathise with any who feel themselves hurt by love. For indeed, he is hurt, hurt by his wife’s assumptions, hurt that she not only cares nothing for him, not only cares not if he sees this, but assumes that he cares for nothing but an heir. Of course he would like an heir, a child, what king would not – what Rohirrim would not? but – that the conversation should have been so bitter, the news of something so joyful spat at him as proof that she has value, which he never doubted, that his hope, his belief that this must be the case was used as proof of his lack of true nobility, his lack of etiquette in speaking of such things – that was a new low point. He does not know how to climb up from this, what to do to make things better. Does not know what either of them could say to break this new barrier. 

In hindsight, the argument over Hathryn was perhaps not wise. The insistence that his child should learn his ways, and no others, was perhaps not kind, not useful, however much it mattered. Maybe there would have been a softer, gentler way to approach it – but – he is not a courtier, not known for his skill with words. He is a straightforward man, born and bred among people who are known for their honesty, their openness, not their ability to talk in pretty words.

He is no man of the city, with its stone walls hemming men in, forcing them to speak soft and cunning, low in voice and low in honour. She did not marry a man of Gondor, she may as well get used to it.

Even as he shapes the thought into words, he feels guilt, imagines his cousin’s face had he said that to Theodred. No. Not all men of Gondor are like that, he apologises silently to the shade his thoughts have conjured, I know you would be the first to say so. Yet, he thinks, did not your love live a lie for so much of his time, in a way that you never could have? Is that not part of the same thing?

The ghost of his cousin raise one brow, and grins, as he did, the only time they talked of this, reminding Eomer of his words, “oh little cousin, if all was as simple as you would have it, what a happy world this might be. There is all the world of difference between living a lie, and merely not shouting the truth. My love never lies. He simply does not – announce things that are, in the end, no-one’s business but his, to those who would use them against him. As to whether I mind – it is not my choice, not my life. One day. One day maybe there will be a way. And if not – then we will have had what we have.” 

Eomer supposes his cousin knew of what he spoke. But – there is still a part of him feels resentment that such love must be forgotten, that Theodred must lie alone, no token of his love to take to the Halls of their ancestors, no words of their story told lest they be heard where they should not be welcome. And this anger – he sighs, facing the fact – this anger possesses him every time his wife implies she expected better, a more courteous husband, a more cultured kingdom. 

However, it does not become him to be unkind to one who is, clearly, unwell. He should try harder. Whatever it is she wants, whether it is a companion from her own country, particular foods, or simply to be left alone, he should see that she has. It is, after all, what he would require of Faramir in care of his sister.


	22. Chapter 22

Autumn 512

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother, 

There has been no word from you for some months now, and I cannot but start to fear all is not well. I daresay were anything to have happened to yourself, I would hear, for you are the King, but I am worried that there has been some ill-chance to stop you writing for so long?

I suppose I have not written either. I have no real excuse. I cannot say I have been busy, merely that there is no news to tell. Life continues, slowly, greyly, as it will I suppose for many years yet. F is busy, yet sad, I am busy yet sad, and I know not really with what I fill my days. This sorrow does not end, and I have no recourse to war to take it from me, or me from it.

I am sorry to hear of Guthric’s state. I have no advice, save to remove him from his eored if his condition is unsuitable for war or other duties. Perhaps at his father’s home he will find some useful task or even someone to occupy his thoughts. 

I hope your silence is not a sign that all is worse than ever between you and your wife. If all your efforts continue to fail, perhaps you should indeed consider this an alliance between nobles and not the kind of marriage we were raised to hope for. Speaking to others, it occurs to me that she may assume you have a lover already, a woman, or a man. It seems that in Dol Amroth, such things are different again to Gondor, and it is not considered so strange, that you might have a shield-bearer, I think the term was. An esquire, who would accompany you where your wife might not, and yet be not your equal. Or indeed, that you would continue to lie with other women, and even sire a horde of claimants to your throne. This might be why she is so keen to assure you this is your child, why she keeps so to her rooms, lest she give gossip a reason to disinherit her babe.

As you can tell, since I have no longer my elf-companion, Meieriel having not returned to my side, I have been talking and listening more to the women of Gondor. I find that actually, they are no different really to people anywhere, some are pleasant and kind, and interesting, and some are not. The differences in customs have given us all food for thought, they begin to wonder whether they would enjoy a little more responsibility, I begin to wonder whether their insistence that all children learn to read and write and figure, might be more sensible than it seems at first. I daresay there are many of our people who have talents in these areas, which will never be discovered because they are not of the standing to have the leisure to be educated. Perhaps this is something a king in peacetime should consider. Maybe even talk to his queen.......

Your kittens and their descendants, thrive. In fact, we are beginning to be overrun. I have offered some to the elves, and met only blank incomprehension. It seems they have no knowledge of cats. I gather only the royal family has hunting dogs even, for the Forest, it seems, is not a place for small creatures to find a home. I asked about mice, and rats, but again they were blank. There may be few in Mirkwood. Perhaps the spiders eat them. 

As you have previously mentioned, elves do like hair, so I take great delight in encouraging my cats to approach Caradhil. They are fascinated by his braids, and would, I think, very much like to play with them. He, clearly, is unsure of these creatures that he cannot charm. It is one of my amusements.

Less amusing was the rumour that reached my ears that another elf has indeed been somewhat overly-familiar with at least one of the ladies of our household. I am not quite sure of the significance of such things, but this – Finrusc – combed a serving girl’s hair. Or something. She seems to have found it pleasant but no more, and I think, though being from Gondor she knows not how to say it, she is somewhat disappointed in the lack of anything more. He is now here far too often, and given to following her about. 

Singing.

I intend to watch, and see what happens. But it is noticeable that there seems to be less talk of the charm of Caradhil, now that these ladies begin to wonder if this hair combing is all that elves can offer. Presumably it is not, or there would be no little elves, but there certainly are not as many as you might think.........

Which brings me back to where I began, wondering if all is well with you, if your wife is any more content, and whether your child will be born by the time you read this. Write to me soon, and give me news.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

 

Eowyn is disingenuous when she says she wonders why Eomer has not written, for she knows full well it is her turn, and has been aware for some time that she is unkind to be so slow to reply. That cannot have been an easy letter to write, Eomer must indeed be verging on desperation to spill out all his hurt to her, and – he has no other to talk to of this. A king can hardly complain of his queen to any of his court, unless he wishes the issue to become common knowledge. Doubtless there will be rumours enough flying around Edoras, no need to give more fodder to such gossip. 

She has delayed writing because she knows not what to say, how to advise him. It is hard to hear of the two of them expecting their first child, yet not enjoying it. Hard to imagine that they could stay like this even once the child is born. Hard to imagine they will not realise their good fortune should it live, but rather continue to fight. She supposes she should feel more sympathy for Lothiriel, in a strange land, surrounded by strangers, living by strange customs, speaking a language not her own, yet hearing others speak another tongue which means nothing to her. 

Since Lothiriel is married to her brother, is making her brother unhappy, is living in her home, is unhappy among her people, thinks her customs barbaric – she feels merely impatience and dislike.

Even so, she has tried to think what might be the problem, or part of the problem, and has tried to be helpful. Likewise, she is trying to be helpful when she suggests sending Guthric to his father – after all, what else can be done with him?

As for the gossip about the elves – that is merely to amuse. She does not really see that much of them, but she thought the idea of all these ladies becoming disillusioned with the charms of elves, if their combs are truly all they can offer, might cheer Eomer. Particularly since his part-elf wife sees none of his charms. Unconsciously, she tightens her grip on the pen she holds – how can this woman be so unkind to her brother? He may not be perfect – he is not perfect – she knows this, she can still feel his hands pulling her hair when they were young, still remember how he would have left her to lead their people to shelter, succour them in defeat, while he rode to war and glory – but – he is her brother. He is a good man, a kind man, he deserves better from a wife than this coldness.

Besides, while she still finds it hard to see anything much in the world beyond duty, in these grey months teasing Caradhil with kittens, and writing lines which may make her brother smile at his expense, are a harmless way to revenge herself upon his quiet efficiency, his annexation of land, his contentment, and one of the few entertainments for which she can summon the energy.


	23. Chapter 23

Winter 512

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister,

I write to you at last, and I have a lot to tell. I am sorry it has taken me so long to write. As you may well have heard, I have a son. Elfwine. 

He thrives. He is well, and eating, and growing, and bouncing, and laughing and smiling, and all the things that parents say babies do. I think he is. Possibly he is not laughing and smiling, but he seems to, and that is enough for me.

I am, I fear, besotted.

I would see more of him than I am allowed. They tell me that at present he needs his mother, he needs to be with her that he may feed often. 

But my wife does not wish me near her.

My wife is not well. They tell me the birth was hard, they tell me the birth did not go very well. They tell me she is hurt. They tell me there must be no more children. I have tried to speak to her of this, but she turns away from me. She is concerned only with our son. 

I suppose this may be normal.

I know not whether she blames me, hates me, is relieved for the end of our intimacy, or is shamed. She need not be, but I do not know. I have not understood her, and I know it.

My son is so well, so happy. She appears to be a good mother, whatever her other failings.

I ask to see her, and all too often I am refused. Sometimes they bring my son out to me, occasionally I may enter, and my son has the dubious pleasure of watching his parents attempt to spend time together.

I hope he is still too young to be damaged by the way things are between us. I hope things will somehow change as he grows.

I daresay I should have other news for you. Let me think. 

Yes, Guthric – Guthric I have sent to his father’s home as you also thought best. Let us hope his native air will restore him.

I am glad to hear the cats thrive.

I would that you also did.

How rare it seems that things turn out as we plan. 

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

It should, Eomer reflects, be such a joyous letter to write. A son, healthy, growing, and perfect. A wife alive, if not completely well, alive and as loving a mother as any child could wish for. 

Yet – a wife who cares not for him. A wife who makes it plain she would prefer him to keep away from her, and away from their son. He does not know if this is because she has never liked him, if it is because she still aches and hurts from the birth, and is perhaps ashamed that he should know, strange thought though that is to a Rohirrim, or – or is it merely that she does not expect any man to be interested in even his own son while he is still a baby?

Eomer does not know. It could be any, or all, of these. 

Or something else entirely. How can he know when he does not see her, when she does not speak to him, when they have never managed to become anything approaching allies, let alone friends?

He has tried to speak with her, he wants her to know that he is sorry she is hurt, that he is glad she survived, that he would never blame her nor resent her, nor think less of her, put her away because of it. He does not know how to say any of it, and when he tried it seemed – it seemed she heard pity for one who is weak, rather than the comfort and praise he would offer any injured in battle. He does not know the customs of her land, but he tried, he had made for her a golden hair-piece, crafted by the dwarves of Aglarond, and so paid for dearly. He thought she would be pleased to be presented with something both beautiful and valuable. 

She was not. 

He does not know why, whether because she simply did not like it, or because she does not like him.  
It doesn’t occur to him that Lothiriel is concerned that this is hardly the moment for Rohan to be spending money they do not really have – or in this case, promising away crops they sorely need to build their own stocks after the years of war. She has not seemed to be interested in the business of governance, indeed she has not been, but – she is her father’s daughter, she is no fool, she can see how it is in this small kingdom, so long war-torn, so long ill-ruled by a sick old man and a traitor. 

Lothiriel may have elven blood, but she would be the first to say she is no elf, to be distracted by pretty trinkets and forget wisdom. But she has not yet seen a way to say any of this to Eomer, and so he is left wondering what he has done now to make her dislike him more than ever. Then in turn, his confusion pushes him to be colder than before with her, and so it grows, this wall between them that neither can cast down nor scale.

Still, he has got rid of Guthric, and the whole of the eored seems to feel better for it. 

Beyond that, he is finding it hard to concentrate. All he really wants to do is play with his son. Talk to his son. Show his son cats, and horses, and sunshine, and rain, and snow, and anything else he can think of. Begin to tell him stories, sing him songs of their land, their people. And so, for the sake of this, he will pretend not to notice the resignation with which his wife greets him, when, once she is no longer abed, he begins to come regularly to her room, to sit with her and his son. Their son. 

And, since he has no-one else to talk to about some matters, some problems, since his advisors are old men, men he does not really know or trust, since this kingdom will be his son’s one day – he talks to his son. After all, his wife has made it plain she cares little for anything he says, so why bother? Why try any more?

He will talk to his son instead.

Not that his son is interested, as well talk to his Cat, he knows this, but – no-one told him how it feels. No-one told him that those gummy smiles are better than any acclamation by crowds. No-one told him that when once you have had such a smile, any policy can seem worthwhile. No-one told him that just talking, just saying the words aloud, can help. No-one told him that work which seemed so dull, so never-ending becomes fascinating when once there is a purpose – and if holding the kingdom together, bettering the land for its own sake was never enough, doing it all, working harder and longer than before because now you have someone to pass it all on to, now you have a stake in the future – ah, that is different.

No-one told him that, in the end, it matters very little who you are married to, it matters only that you have a child.

He has retained sense enough not to say this to his sister. He supposes she would disagree anyway; he supposes he might, had he the luck to love his wife. Since he does not, it is as well not to regret it.


	24. Chapter 24

Winter with signs of spring 3023

 

From Lothiriel, Queen of the Rohirrim to Amrothos, youngest prince of Dol Amroth.

My dear brother,

I write to you in the hopes that it will sort out my feelings to put them down on paper. I am aware you would have little patience with me, failure as I seem to be, and I daresay you pity Eomer that he is left with a wife in name, who is no wife in use.

However, Eomer seems not discontent. He clearly loves my our son, and quickly began to come and sit and talk with me at all times of day so that he can be with him. No. That is too simple. Eomer comes to sit and talk with our son. He talks out his problems to the baby, not caring that I listen. Odd as this seems to me, I confess I began to find it fascinating. Indeed, considered as a person, he is pleasant enough. It helps that he had been told by the healers that there will be no more children, and so kept his distance. I suppose it is as well this child is a boy, he has an heir now, which is, of course, his reason for marrying. Perhaps he is not unhappy with the situation since he is now free to return to his lover, whoever that may be. In all these months I have not discovered the name.

My son is delightful, though rather hard work. I will not be sorry when he begins to sleep more at night. I have, in truth, little else to occupy myself with, and perhaps that is why I am becoming more interested in the business of this kingdom. Eomer is one to think aloud, as I said, and I cannot but listen. In actual fact, I do not believe that before becoming king, Eomer has been one to think much at all. He is no fool, but so simple. Direct. Honest. He has no bargaining or trading skills, no knowledge of courts almost. Yet he grew up here. I can only assume he spent most of his time in a stable.

I daresay it is through looking at my son, and knowing that this inheritance, this kingdom is to be his one day that makes me begin to listen to the words and problems of my husband. He is certainly one to explain matters well, and I find it easy to follow for compared to our home, our land, our nobles, this country is straightforward. 

No, I do both the country and my husband an ill-service to say so, for it sounds as though I make light of his concern, and I should not. I do not. Indeed, he is beset with worries. His advisers are mostly older, shrewder men than he who have managed to keep themselves well despite all the time of fighting. Something which I think should raise more questions than it does. I do not wholly trust many of them, I am confident they will all be out for their own gain. The younger men, who perhaps he could trust, who he knows, are him again, but with even less in the way of learning, and so no aid to him.

And then there is this dwarf kingdom on his doorstep. Every time there has been a trade negotiation with them, it seems, the price of their work increases, and the value of the goods this kingdom can trade falls. Now, I am aware that it is good work, well made, at a fair price, truth be known. But it is not a fair price if Rohan cannot pay.

I have been thinking this for some time, as I listened to his words to our son. Now, I know this is not what my father would wish to hear of me, I know this is no way for a wife to behave, but today, today I found I could no longer listen to this husband of mine with the quiet acceptance I should show. Today I broke into his speech. Today I showed I had listened all these months. Today I suggested to my lord king, that he be more definite in his words to this dwarf. 

For a moment he was as shocked and silent as if his horse had spoken. Then he looked at me, looked at our son, and said,  
“Elfwine, did your mother just speak to me? Lothiriel, my lady, did you just offer me advice?”

And for a moment I was afraid, thinking I had indeed overstepped my place, that I had surely offended him, I would be sent away – and I found I was afraid. I no longer wish to leave, if only because no king, no man, would give up a son, and I could not bear to be parted from my child. Then I took courage from his silence, and I met his eyes,

“Yes,” I said, such a simple word, “yes, my lord husband, I did. For, with all respect to you, my lord king, you speak much in this room and I cannot but hear and listen, and while you are elsewhere, on the heavy matters with which men are concerned, I sit, and I tend our son, and I sew, and I think. I – I am sorry, my lord, if I have done ill, but it seems to me you have few others who will not think first of themselves or their families – and my duty, my allegiance must be to you, to Elfwine, and hence to Rohan.”

He nodded, thinking, and then asked,  
“In that case, explain to me what you have seen, and heard, and thought. Show me why I should do as you say, for in truth, I do not understand the ways of dwarves, I do not know how to treat with him, and perhaps you know more?”

I smiled then, for indeed I have never met a dwarf, not even leaving my rooms when they visit my lord, and I would not expect to, being a virtuous lady, and dwarves being what they are known to be, their reputation for all manner of appetites being such. I did not point this out, for I thought he might cease to listen, but merely explained,

“It matters little what race the speakers are, bargaining is something we know much of in my land, and one thing I know well, that if you agree a high price the first time you purchase, at your next visit the goods will be dearer. That is how traders are, and dwarves – dwarves are a trading race.”

He nodded ruefully,  
“But Gimli – Gimli is my friend, I owe him much in times of war.”

“Indeed, my lord king, doubtless you do, and in all honour you would repay it, you would go to him in his need – but this – this is a separate matter. Think you not that is why he writes not himself, but has this cousin treat with you in his stead?”

He wavered, and I heard him say, as though to himself,  
“I had thought it was simply that he was otherwise occupied – that he is happy in his love,”  
but after some persuasion, he saw my point, and let me help him draft a letter. 

It remains to be seen what comes of this.

 

Well, now, brother, this is interesting. Apparently, what comes of my helping with one letter, is that I am now asked to help with many. Not as scribe, you understand, but as, I suppose the term would perhaps be, confidential secretary and advisor. It is very interesting. My lord king is clearly out of his depth, and knows it. 

I do not understand why one who was so close in line to the throne was given so little training, that even I, a princess, not expected to ever rule in my own name, may know more than he. I do not understand how he is so quick to trust and assume I know that of which I speak. I can only assume he has been floundering more than I realised.

 

More interesting still. The dwarf in question has written back, making it clear he is perplexed by our answers, and that he wishes to come in person to discuss the proposed terms. I find my lord king is in something of a quandary, not sure how to deal with this at all. I also find his first thought is, rather oddly, to let me deal with the dwarf when he comes. I suppose I could try. Surely if I were fully chaperoned, it would be well enough? The unworthy thought strikes me that I am unlikely to make a worse mess than he has.

However, I think, on reflection, that it may be time that we saw this dwarf kingdom for ourselves. I think I would like to know how and what they are building. When I suggest this to my lord king, he seems confused at first, for he has not thought to show me any of his land before, but when I say it will be a chance for the prince also to see his home, I find my lord in easy agreement. And so we are off, not only to Aglarond, but to tour many of the outlying farmsteads. I fear it may be rather rough living, but I hope it will be interesting also.

Once more, I am relieved I send not this letter, relieved word of my doings is unlikely to reach you or my father, for I daresay you both would consider such a trip for me below your honour. It is father’s great boast that once she had married him, mother has never needed to even leave the palace. 

That, it seems, is not the way of things in my husband’s land, and since I shall see neither of you again, I suppose it matters not what your opinions are. I trust my lord husband that this is not to be a ruse, to smear my virtue that he might cast me aside.

He is not the cunning type. 

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Lothiriel has changed more than she realises to be able to contemplate such a tour with equanimity. Giving birth was not pleasant. To put it mildly, it was not pleasant, and that she has survived, has produced a healthy son – she is more confident than she has ever felt before. She was raised to understand this as the prime duty of any married woman – and she has succeeded. Right now, right now, she feels she could take on the world. A small camping tour of Rohan, a tricky negotiation with a dwarf-lord, all of it will be no problem. 

There is indeed a part of her that feels sad there will be no more children, that feels she is not a successful wife if her husband will not come to her bed again – but – the birth was such that she is not truly sorry. After all, there has been no pleasure in bed for her, and her husband shows no regret that this part of their marriage must be over.

If she is now to be something between nursemaid and advisor – it is odd, but so many things are odd in this land. What is one more? 

The primary duty of a wife is to produce an heir. This she has done.

The secondary duty, is to please her husband, and bow to his will in all things. This she tries to do. She is aware she did not please in bed, and never expected to, being no trained courtesan. She cannot produce a nursery full of children. So, if her husband instead requires her to talk with him, to travel with him, to work for him – that is what she must do.

The primary duty of a mother, is to care for her child. This she does.

The secondary duty of a mother is to watch over her child’s inheritance. This she expected to do by guarding her own honour, by arranging accidents for any rival children by other women, should it be necessary. However, since it seems not, she will guard her son’s kingdom not from other claimants, but from his father’s own good nature and lack of training.

Besides, the primary duty of a woman to herself, is to ensure her menfolk have the power to protect her. Even if that means teaching them that which she knows and they do not.


	25. Chapter 25

Spring 513

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

Of course I am delighted to hear your news, and I apologise, again, for my lateness in replying to your last letter. I have been busy. I will tell you more later. 

First, your son. He is, you say, very wonderful. And laughs, and smiles. I am glad to hear it, and be assured that your joy makes my sorrow no worse. Perhaps if you had a daughter, as I once did, it would be painful to hear your delight. Tell me more of your son, I would hear of him as he grows. Perhaps in time either you will send him here with his companions, or I shall be able to come to you and meet him.

The cats do indeed flourish. I am busily engaged in persuading the elves that some would be useful to them, but I have no success as yet. I know not how they keep mice and rats away from their food stores. Perhaps they sing. 

As I said before, Caradhil does not like the cats, they worry him somehow, and so I doubt any elf will dare to like them. For all his talk of his prince, for all his talk of much consultation among his elves, it is pretty clear to me that he rules his people absolutely. 

I have been hearing more of the elves, and elvish ways recently, for my friend Meieriel is back. I think to elves, this last year seems a shorter time than it does to us and it had not occurred to her that I might be concerned. In truth, she came to me and apologised for her desertion of me,  
“I daresay you think me flighty to leave you in such a time of grief,” she said, “but Eowyn, I found, I found I could not bear to be near you in your happiness, and then knew not how to come to you in sorrow. It has only been since Caradhil has reported you begin to be able to laugh again, that I have dared to come and seek your forgiveness.”

Of course how could I not forgive? But I asked her, what in my happiness made it hard for her to come – I could not believe she could have had an infant die, that does not happen to elves, surely.

“No indeed,” she answered, and oh the sorrow in her face as she spoke, “it does not. Nor does the joy of having an elfling come to those elves who do not love as completely and totally as elves can. I have no love, I have never met one for whom I could feel that, and so I can have no elfling.”

I confess I may then have said the wrong thing. I did not urge her to wait, to trust in the Valar, to assume that all things are planned and happen as they should. Instead,  
“Can elves not have a child without complete love then? All other races can, it is not love that makes a child, it is coupling. Love makes it better, but animals love not, yet they have their young. Our horses do not even choose their own mates, for we breed for one quality or another, as we have need, and the love a mare bears for her foal is true if of a different degree to that a woman bears for a babe. Do elves never marry for friendship only?”

I had never realised how strange their ways are, until I saw the look on her face as she answered,  
“No. Elves marry only for love. For complete, utter love. Love such as in the tales and songs. I have never known it, nor have many of our group. It happens but once for any elf, and if it is not returned, or the one they are destined to love they never meet, then that elf may fade, or may simply live all their life as I have lived mine. Alone in that way,” and then she blushed as she added, “alone, not knowing, not missing this love. But – I begin to think I shall not love, that my destined one has left this middle earth, and while I can live without love, I find I would like an elfling.”

Then indeed I was surprised, for I had considered Meieriel not one to have such womanish desires, and asked,  
“But you are a leader of your people, you are second only to Caradhil in all the decisions and plans made in your land, would you throw that away for a baby, such as can be borne by any elf-woman, however lowly?” for indeed, I sometimes wonder at all I gave up to marry F, and was it worth it when I count the cost.

She looked at me again, and answered,  
“In this, I think our race has the advantage. For were I to have a little one, it would be no hardship for me to spend time away from my plants and seeds to spend with her, and when it seemed to me I was ready to work at my calling again, I would leave her with those who tend elflings, within call of me, yet cared for by others who find in that their own fulfilment. And that might be within months of her birth, or it might never happen and I would do no more with my plants until my babe came of age. Yet that would be a mere fifty years, and no great consideration in my life.”

Truly they are strange. I must have been clearly silenced, for she shook herself, and added, “but I shall think on what you have said, Eowyn, for it seems to me that there are many things elves have not previously done that we can learn to do, and perhaps this might be one. I have indeed a dear friend who would make a most excellent father, and whose love, though I think unadmitted even to himself, will never be returned.”

And I wondered who she spoke of, and would I suppose, have asked, had she not turned the conversation then.

But it left me wondering again about Caradhil, for I cannot help but think he is her dearest friend.

It left me wondering also how much I can still do here, though I have no child, though I am shieldmaiden no more. There are, I believe, matters on which F would benefit from a second opinion, and perhaps I should be more forceful in expressing my views.

I wonder if your Lothiriel has a similar expectation, or if she is no elf in this matter either.

As for Guthric, he is a man, not a child. It is not up to you to make his life perfect, only to prevent him making a fool of himself, and damaging his eored. I daresay he will look back on this episode and cringe with shame one day.

I hope things are improving between my nephew’s parents. Surely that bond must start to bring you together, if only in common concern and interest in his growth and happiness? I shall wait to hear from you.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eowyn reads through her words, and nods to herself. Yes. If Meieriel can consider overthrowing centuries – millennia – of custom for the sake of a child, surely she, who has considered herself brave, can ignore city ways for the sake of her own self-worth. 

The women of Rohan have long been in the habit of working and speaking alongside their men, even fighting when need arises – for though there are not now many who choose the path of shieldmaiden, it has long been recognised as an honourable estate. She gave up that life freely enough, having in truth never been fully bound to it, seeing it only as a last desperate hope, but – now she begins to wonder – was she too quick to take on the restrictions of these city people?

How will things change if she does not change them?

If she does not speak, how can she complain if Faramir does not listen?


	26. Chapter 26

Summer 513

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister, 

I have much news to tell you, much of it surprising.

I will start with the sad, for I would not have it the last thing you read. Guthric is dead. I sent him home to his father’s household, as you know. It seems that was the worst thing I could have done for him, and why, why he did not tell me, I wish I understood. I suppose he felt I cared not, that I had no use for him so would not be concerned. It is only now that I have heard from those helpful people who never spoke up before, that he and his father have never been close. That his father is known to be a cold, hard man with little use for affection or friendship of any kind. Nor did I know just how isolated the croft is. I knew its area, I knew the neighbours, many of them good enough folk of an ordinary sort. I did not know that the homestead itself is in the furthest corner removed by too long a ride from others to enable any regular companionship to be found. 

None can tell what the circumstances were, none can know, save two, and of those one is dead and the other does not care to speak. Those nearby knew not even that Guthric was returned, for it seems he rode in carefully, silently, perhaps by night, in order that they did not know. Then for some weeks, the two of them, father and son, would have been together in a forced intimacy, the one seeing only failure and disgrace, the other seeing, I think, very little save a life of servitude to one he hoped he had left behind, a life of loneliness without the one he believed he loved.

Who knows what words they spat at each other? Or perhaps the silence was the worst of it. For whatever reason, some weeks ago, some months after I sent him home, a shepherd from a neighbouring village was in the area, tracking after a lost sheep, as shepherds do, when he came upon Guthric’s horse. Standing patiently beside his body. At the foot of a cliff. He must have climbed it and then, who knows whether he fell or jumped. Who knows how long it took for him to die of his injuries, for it seems unlikely he was killed outright.

Well, his horse knows, I suppose, but it is not telling. Bloody animals. Didn’t do anything useful, get help, as a dog would have, didn’t provide any comfort or affection as one of my cats would, just stood there churning up the grass and waiting. It is back here now, there is no reason for his worthless father to be gifted with such a valuable animal. It was Guthric’s, earnt by good service, and he was fond of it. I will not have it left with one he was so at odds with.

Poor Guthric.

I confess I do feel some guilt, but I cannot show it to any of my men. It is not for a king to regret such actions, they were the right course. Were I to show guilt, the men of his eored would also feel they had failed him, when in truth I think they did all that could be done. 

My wife agrees with me.

For, yes, I find that now we are not forced into, as you called it to your elf-lady, coupling; now that we have our son safely born and a shared concern, my wife and I begin, at last, to know each other. We begin to talk on such things, and I find her very astute and helpful. She does not understand our ways, though after near two years among us she begins to I think, yet when she does not understand she asks me, and sometimes in talking one finds a thing that one has taken for granted is perhaps not the best way. As you have found in talking of educating all children beyond where we would normally do. This is something my wife also praises, and so we plan to begin to encourage such schemes. It will take time and perhaps not be successful for many years, but I think it may be worth a try, and it will be easier to introduce new things now, while I am the young king, just come to power and with victory in battle remembered.

That is a sample of my wife’s wisdom. Am I not lucky?

Now I must tell you more of my surprising news. As I say, since our son was born, we began to spend more time together, at first simply because he never left her side, and if I wished to be with him, then I must also be with her, and it was at this time that I began to talk to her of serious matters. As you know, I had tried to do so previously, but she was not then interested. I am not sure what has changed her mind, whether it is simply boredom, or whether it is that even if she still does not feel this is her land, she knows it will be her son’s. I can tell she thinks my education severely lacking, that there is much I do not know. I daresay she is right, there is. I doubt she would have thought so of Theodred. 

So we began to talk of things, and I soon found that she is much more ready with words than any of my advisors, and I feel more trust in her than in them. There is a part of me that cannot but wonder at these old men who have remained in safety, sending out their sons to die in battle, keeping only their youngest as an heir. I lack confidence in their ability to think of Rohan before themselves. My wife has no interest but our son. I can trust her to think for him, and these days that means for Rohan and I. Possibly when he is older, our interests will not run together as they do now, but that is a matter for another time.

You may laugh to know that I first saw clearly her worth in dealing with a letter from Droin. You will remember how that first of his letters puzzled both you and I, so that we resorted to asking your new clerks to interpret? Droin has become no easier with time, and I am still confused by much that he says. My wife is not. She understands his words with ease, and she knows ways to refuse him. She helped me write a letter so far removed from my habitual agreement to all he says, the next we knew, he was demanding to come and speak in person. And then, my wife says, no. Do not let him come here, to inventory what we can afford to pay, and what we need to buy, let us go to him, and see what wealth he has, what manner of works he has done.

I was dubious, but she was adamant that this was the best course, and indeed, so it proved to be. Indeed, the journey itself was pleasant, across this land at a kind season, showing our little prince much of what will one day be his to rule, spending nights together by a fire and under the stars. As chaste as though it were you and I, in those far off days, when you would sneak out from your maiden’s duties and be Dernhelm, for my wife may not risk another birth. Yet, somehow, this did not matter. I find I can live without well enough when I must, and the friendship between us is worth much.

So we came to the Dwarrow-realm of Aglarond. It is very great and beautiful, yet clearly not finished. There is work enough here for dwarves to be busy for centuries I think. Of course the dwarves were expecting us, and so there was the usual feasting. Very nice, if you like a lot of baked goods, very little meat, and much beer. Yes. Little meat. Interesting, I thought, for of course, dwarves are neither farmers nor hunters.

Lothiriel thought that was worth considering too.

Next day we did begin some discussion with Droin, but, and I have to admit this was quite by chance, everything had to stop when the lords of Aglarond returned. Droin found someone, possibly his brother, I am not sure, to show us more of the caves, while he made a report to the lords as to what had happened in their absence and what was going on, presumably also involving what we were doing there. Kroin, I believe it was who we spent the time with, was a very pleasant and transparently open and honest dwarf, who I imagine Droin had many strict words with later.

Dinner that night was much improved. Still beer, not mead, and still a large quantity of baked goods, but plenty of meat, at least for the top table. Venison so well cooked, one almost did not realise it had not been hung, but instead had clearly, I believe, been hastily caught when the lords realised they had guests.

I suppose the elf has his uses.

Although, if Gimli hoped, as I think Droin had, to continue to play the poor struggling dwarf-colonists, he should have not given in to the temptation to drape his elf in quite so much jewellery.

Poor Droin. I actually felt sorry for him over the next few days.

Beset on all sides.

My wife, who, I have to say it, is clearly more intelligent than I, better at negotiation and far, far more persistent.

Myself, easily able to outdrink him.

Our little Elfwine. Who was on form as an adorable, big-blue-eyed baby. So entranced by the sparkly lights that he did not cry, but was truly hard to resist.

Legolas, who clearly, for whatever reason, is a walkover for any small child. Or indeed, for any caring parent. I noticed how he looked at Elfwine, and also at whichever of us held our son, at how he watched when we tended to his needs. There is, I think, a story there, and not a happy one.

Gimli, who is incapable of saying no to his elf.

Poor Droin.

The terms agreed in the end were not only better than the original ones by a significant margin, not only better than I had dared to hope for, but better even than Lothiriel thought we might achieve.

It will do them no harm. I am happy to relax the terms a little as time goes on. 

Actually, they will be much healthier dwarves. Part of the payment for the ores we use and the goods we need is to be in crops both fresh and dried, and in sheep. 

However skilled in hunting, it is asking a lot to expect one elf to bring down enough deer to feed a colony of dwarves. 

Not very good for the deer population either.

 

So, I think that is the most exciting part of my tale. Lothiriel is my friend, my advisor, mother of my heir. Queen.

And if she is not lover also, then I suppose there are worse fates.

 

I hope all is well with you, and your F.

I do not know how you manage to deal with a colony of elves so close by. I have been avoiding writing this, for it feels like speaking ill of a friend, but I find I need to, partly for my own peace of mind, partly in warning. I have mentioned poor Guthric’s death. I have said that we have spent time with the lords of Aglarond. I would not, I think, have dared to tell them of what had happened, had not the news first come to us there. 

That was interesting. Now, to be clear, I do not blame either of them for what happened. Not in deed, nor in unintended error. Gimli could not have known how Guthric would react to seeing him again, indeed, I do not think Guthric knew how he would react. Legolas may have been somewhat overly possessive, but no more than many men would be. Guthric should have known better than to make advances to one already vowed elsewhere. 

Besides, they were nowhere near the area when Guthric died.

However, when the news came in, I was surprised by both of them. Gimli clearly feels in some part responsible. More than he need, unless there is something I know not. He came to me, and asked were there any who would suffer need from this death. I think he would in truth have taken on the burden of providing, had Guthric had a widowed sister, or orphaned nephews or some such. As it is, the only one who may suffer is the father he resented, who helped him not. But I respected the dwarf for coming and asking, even as I assured him it was not of his making. He promised nothing, and for many months Guthric was content. I do not think it so simple as unrequited love. I think he may have been more shocked by the war than we knew.

Be that as it may, I would have expected more compassion from the elf. The elf who has known what it is to love hopelessly. The elf who, I am told by Droin when in his cups, was like to fade and die without love returned.

But no. The elf, did not laugh, he did not smile, but he showed no grief, no sorrow, not even the faintest pity. If anything, I would say he had an air of quiet triumph about him that day.

They are a most strange race.

For all that elves seem more like men, with their height, their speech, their ways, I think in truth we have far more in common with dwarves. 

I tell you this, not merely to confirm your opinion of the two lords, for well I know which you favour, nor to reassure you once more that I have no taste for elven star-gazing, but to warn you. Those who live in your land may be helpful, they may have many virtues, but they are not men. They are beings totally apart from us, and with their own mores and customs.

I think you know this, I think it is your husband you need to keep on his guard, I simply feel I would be remiss as a brother did I not say it once more.

Now I find I must stop writing and tend to my wife and son. I hope all is well with you, and ask you to greet my brother F for me.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Indeed, Eomer was deeply shocked by Legolas’ lack of pity, lack of compassion, almost lack of understanding of the fate of Guthric. Until now he has always considered the elf an honourable creature, kind-hearted, has in fact continued to see him almost as another younger sister, however much he knows this to be an illusion. 

The visit to Aglarond changed that. He saw him once more as a skilled hunter, skilled with weapons beyond anything a man could ever learn, a creature with speed and reflexes, hearing and sight beyond that of any mortal, a most peculiar being, with little charity, little care for anything but his own pride and possession. 

It is hard for one who has never loved or longed, who has been all his life secure in his own estimation of himself, in the affection of his family, to understand such jealous devotion, even without all the other barriers of custom between them.

Still, he reflects to himself, perhaps it is no bad thing to be reminded that kings have no business to be lovestruck, to be dependent on one other, to be so distracted. Certainly Droin in his widowed self-sufficiency would have managed the outcome of the visit far better had his lords not returned.

However, none of that compares with the change in temperature between himself and his wife. Oh, before the journey they were beginning to be allies, to find they had interests which ran together, he had learnt to value her education, her skill with words, her ability to see the long view, and, he supposes, she had begun to see that he is trying, he is doing his best to care for her and their child. Perhaps, he admits to himself, perhaps he would have been better to say to her many months ago, ‘Lothiriel, you have the advantage of me, with all your schooling, teach me.’ Perhaps then she would have listened to him as he tried to tell her of the things he does know. Perhaps he should have tried to show her his land before, to tell her of the ways and customs, to explain things. 

But, in truth, he is a simple man, and it had not really occurred to him how many things would seem so strange to her. 

It was only when they were travelling that he found she had never held a child before their son’s birth, that she had never expected to do so much of the care for a child; had expected more grandeur, more maids, more seclusion. And, he found, not so much because she thought herself above it, thought herself too ladylike, but simply because she has known no other ways. That she was genuinely concerned that should she walk among his people he would think her – without virtue – he had no idea. That ladies of Dol Amroth do not care for their children with their own hands – he is horrified. 

That she had, as she confessed, had to ask Hathryn, who he knows she dislikes, for help with the first feeding and cleaning of Elfwine – he feels guilty. It had never occurred to him, Rohan being what it is, that any could reach the age of wedlock, particularly one with younger siblings as he knows she has, yet not have at least the beginnings of knowledge in these matters. He is no expert, but he cannot remember the first time he was given his sister to hold, to lug about, to keep safe as she toddled after him, and his cousin – Theodred seemed rarely without some gaggle of children at his heels, golden prince as he was.

Oh my cousin, he thinks again, doubtless this is something else you would have managed better than I. 

And this friendship between himself and his wife – for so it does seem now to be – this would have suited you well.

But I – I hoped for more. I saw my sister wed, I read her letters, I cannot but know how she loves her husband, and he her – I see the same in so many of my people – so many of the crofts and farmsteads in this land, so many of the great halls, boast this love of husband for wife, and wife for husband – yet my palace knows it not, and, I think, never will.

He reminds himself, friendship is much more than he hoped for some months ago.

Perhaps one day the difference between friendship and love will seem not to matter anymore.


	27. Chapter 27

Autumn 513

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother, 

I was grieved to hear of Guthric’s death, yet, not wholly surprised. He was ever a fool, overly influenced by his emotions. Truth be known, I think he perhaps enjoyed the drama of it all, and then missed not only the attention it brought him but the companionship of his eored as much as anything.

That sounds as though I feel no pity, but indeed I do, I do feel for him, and for you, and his eored, and neighbours, all of whom no doubt blame themselves. But – he was a man, with all man’s choices open to him, yet this was his only way out? 

On a more cheerful note, I was so pleased to read that things are improving between you and your wife. I hope they continue to, and that even if it will not be a love-match, it may be a good friendship. I am very pleased to hear that she has decided to turn her considerable talents to your aid – any daughter of Imrahil’s must surely be intelligent, and well-educated, particularly if she was expecting to be the wife of the Steward of Gondor. I daresay your interests and your son’s will run together for many years yet.

I did enjoy hearing of your visit to Aglarond. I had not observed that Legolas is so easily influenced by small children – are you sure it was your son, and neither you nor your pretty wife that had him unable to say nay? Was there star-gazing? 

Nay, looking again at your letter, you are very definite on that point. Indeed, poor Legolas seems to have lost much of your estimation simply by failing to grieve for one who would have robbed him of his love. Do not forget, that for elves, that is not only unthinkable in itself, but also as good as killing the bereft spouse. I doubt that Gimli would have been in any hurry to confess had you taken him up on his offer to support surviving dependents, for I think that would almost have amounted to an admission of culpability to Legolas, and I have no idea what he would then have done.

Yet, I cannot blame Legolas for his jealousy, his dislike. Were I to be in his position, I think I should feel much the same. Perhaps particularly when they are in Aglarond. You do not know how strange it is at times to live among a people not your own. How vulnerable one feels when everything is dependent on the one you love. How helpless one would be if they turned from you. I am lucky, in that my F is not capable of such a thing, and has no history. I know not whether dwarves can play false, but you will, I think, agree that Gimli certainly has a past, not just poor Guthric, littered throughout the lands he has visited. I do not envy Legolas that, especially as I suppose, being an elf, he has no similar tales to tell.

Perhaps Caradhil’s obvious devotion is necessary to him in that battle too. Doubtless you will object to the word battle. However, you are so far removed from the experience, you have no idea. Maybe one day you will be able to speak of this to your wife, and listen to her answer.

You are right in one thing; elves are very odd, very different from us in so many ways. Sometimes they seem so insouciant, so content with whatever life brings, so easily pleased, needing so little material wealth as they do. For they feel neither heat nor cold, not as we do, they eat less for need than for social enjoyment, they feel no other physical needs I think, unless they fall in love, they live so long, and yet suffer no aging. A strange life. Yet your dwarves, I do not know. Are they easier to manage? I think they too are very different from us, with so many different customs, so quick to anger, and yet so hard to placate. I would not want to rule them, I think.

Indeed, poor Droin. If only the chief of the elves here was as easy to manage as it seems your head dwarf is. Caradhil continues to go from strength to strength. I warn you, he and Droin write and confer, so I am told. It may be that Droin will one day soon find a way to out-manoeuvre you. Be warned. If he does, it will not be his own, but will be sent to him by this red-haired charmer. 

As you may gather, since I have been taking more note of such things, I have come to realise how much my dear, trusting F has already given away. Land, prime, fertile, good land. Trading rights. Legal powers. There seems little to be done. And of course, one cannot simply hope for a change of leader. There will be no change. For all his talk of consultation, Caradhil is as firmly ensconced here as Legolas’ father in his forest. And as immortal. I think I shall continue to quietly encourage my good friend Meieriel in her wish for a child, and see if that will perhaps distract him.

I did try, for my own amusement, to gift him some kittens, but he was not having any of it. Perhaps I will wait until the lords come, and see if Legolas is as charmed by small furry babies as by Rohirrim ones. That would be entertaining, to send him to his friend, his supposed retainer, his in-truth almost ruler, with some kittens.

Poor little things.

I daresay Gimli would defend them, if only to annoy Caradhil.

I keep writing on small matters, hoping to avoid the great. Why should I? This should be joyous, yet I daresay you will understand when I say it is not wholly so.

I am with child again. This time, I expect to be delivered in the spring, which perhaps is a healthier time of year. Yet, I confess, I am afraid. Afraid of the birth, for now I know what to expect, and more, afraid of the years to come. Afraid to watch my child grow, knowing how easily it could be taken from me. 

Afraid too, I will not be able to love this child, so unsure I am that it will live for long enough to return that love.

F feels similarly I think. 

I do not know what I hope you to say, I just would be glad of any reassurance you can offer. Failing that, your sympathy would be nice.

I will end on a question. Is Bramling married yet? Please tell me he has not cast himself off a cliff over that silly Frewyn. For surely Erkenbrand will have married her off now that Lothiriel has not died of her first childbed, as must have been his hope. I wonder if you realised that? I am confident that was his plan. To allow you to marry this incomer, wait until she died, for he is the type to be confident none but a Rohirrim can bear a child in safety, and then hand you his daughter while you were sorrowing, and gain so much influence.

For this alone, I admire Lothiriel, that she has outwitted Erkenbrand. I hope she continues to thrive and be a fine helpmeet for you, even if she cannot comfort you in other ways. On which note, you might want to bear in mind that Hathryn is very skilled. Not every spring planting needs bear a harvest.

If I hear not from you again, I wish you a good Yule, and ask you again to think of me, teaching our customs to my people, and trying to drink wine with a fraction of the pleasure that mead gives.

 

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eowyn blushes to write the words. Not because speaking of such matters is difficult, after all she has even begun to speak like this to these ladies around her – and for all their husbands’ doubt, they were pleased enough to hear and listen to her words, and learn the skills her old nurse has brought with her – but to speak of such things so forthrightly to her older brother – as though he might need her guidance – it seems strange.

Still, for all the affection she bears him, he is a man. These things can, she has come to see, seem less urgent to men, a risk can seem worth taking, perhaps because it is not they who will have to face the skill of Hathryn, or the terrors of birth. And, despite her reservations about Lothiriel, she has defeated the wiles of Erkenbrand, a man whom Eowyn has never been entirely comfortable with, a man who is altogether more wolf-like than she thinks her uncle or brother has ever seen. 

Suddenly a memory comes, unbidden, of herself watching as Erkenbrand talked down her uncle, and turned away, a hint of triumph on his face – and how he met Theodred’s eye, how for a long moment there was a stillness between them, before Erkenbrand bowed, and Theodred let him pass and walk away. 

She wonders what her cousin knew of Erkenbrand that he had the same reservation she does, and she wonders how it is that neither of them ever spoke to her brother of this before.

For a long moment she stares from the window, as she wonders whether Lothiriel will have this same reservation, this same distrust – and whether Eomer will listen to her more than to his sister. She sighs, and supposes he should. After all, that is part of what she has tried to say to him, that it is not easy to be a stranger in a strange land, to be dependent on the one you are married to – harder, she supposes, if there is not love there to begin with – that it behoves the partner who is at home to be a little more forgiving, a little more listening, a little kinder. 

It is something Faramir is good at, perhaps his years of being a second son stood him in good stead, perhaps he understands how it is to feel insecure and misplaced. The language lessons have helped too – she will never chatter away in Sindarin as these Gondorians do, but since she has learnt to understand, to follow the talk, she is more confident. She has also noticed that, for all the people of Gondor are so proud of their command of the language, the elves seem to prefer to use Westron with them. Indeed, for all the impassive countenances of elves, there is the occasional nose-twitch when Sindarin is used – and Eowyn has begun to understand that such a slight movement is perhaps the elvish equivalent of a most stunned and shocked, or in this case discourteously amused, expression.

No, she and Gimli both decided some time ago, that one is never going to keep up with the bloody elves at this game, so not letting on just how much one can follow – that gives you an advantage. Interesting, she thought, that he also suffers at times from this feeling of insecurity in a strange land – you would think that dividing their time as they do each of the lords would know to lessen it for the other. But no, she reflects, that is not their way – why make life easy, when you can compete, and bicker, and tease – and make up. She wonders again what was the outcome of their language-learning wager – and knows she will not dare ask. There are some matters one does not actually wish to hear spoken of by the participants.

She smiles again at the thought of gifting kittens. That would be harmless fun. 

Most suitable for a pregnant lady.

She sighs, knowing the knowledge of new life should cheer her, should fill her with joy – knowing it does not. The fear is too great.


	28. Chapter 28

Winter 513

 

From Eomer, King of Rohan, to Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien.

 

My dear sister, 

I am so pleased to hear that you, or the Valar if you prefer, have decided to have another child. Nothing will replace your loss, but this new babe may be a joy in itself. I do not really know how to reassure you, but I do truly think you will find yourself able to love it when it is born, and learn to relax and trust that it will be safe. I find it hard to believe you could be so unlucky twice.

That is probably no help. Sorry. My wife, my dear wife, has no help to offer either. But we do wish you well, and if there is anything you can think of that we can send, we would be delighted to do so. Lothiriel even offers to have our nurse back here if that would make things easier for you, and more than that, I think it not possible to suggest. 

I hope all is going as it should, and I look forward to hearing of the birth of my new nephew or niece.

I like your plan for distracting Caradhil. From snippets of conversation dropped here, I think he is fond of elflings, I think he may even have known Legolas as an elfling, long ago, so he may well take your friend up on her idea. And if she sees you with this new child in your arms, she may well be even more inclined to suggest it.

Failing that, I think Legolas might well like a kitten. He certainly plays with them here.

Actually, I wonder if he would really like a child. No, I jest. He is too possessive, he would be incapable of sharing Gimli, and woe betide any child that demanded attention at the wrong moment. I think he lacks some vital empathy, or perhaps all elves do, have you noticed this? Still, he is quite amazingly fond of Elfwine, and I have seen him also cradling other babies when he has visited Edoras, and indeed he seems quite happy to let the baby dwarves of Aglarond crawl over him. For there are indeed baby dwarves. Droin may be no lady, but it seems that plenty of the others are. A thriving colony we have on our hands.

To be fair, Gimli is so given to his work, and of course Legolas has none here, that he is left to play with anything or anyone. Kittens, horses, babies, he is not very fussy. He does love his horses. Odd creature. I am surprised you do not get on better with him.

So. Other news. 

Bramling. You remember Bramling.

He has, I think the word is, eloped. With Frewyn. 

They have, it seems, been corresponding all this time. And, on the appointed day, she rode to meet him, and they have gone. Towards Gondor, looking for work, or somewhere they can live. They will be married by now, by custom, and probably more than custom I think, for she writes they plan to make sure of things before her father can have his say.

She it is who has written to me, laying their plans before me as their king, and asking for my help in preventing her father exacting any unreasonable bride price or penalty.

I it is who had Erkenbrand arrive here, swearing and shouting, and threatening to beat Bramling to jelly.

And I thought – for what? For loving your daughter? 

For letting her choose her own fate?

I looked at him, as he stood there before me, ranting of what he would do, of his honour, his rights, and I thought, no. 

I looked at my wife, seated beside me, with our son in her arms, and I thought, no. She was given to me by her father, and it is to my shame that I wrote and asked him, not her. It is my fortune that we have, at last, begun to put things right between us. I will not make that the normal way of things in my kingdom, any more than it was in my uncle’s, nor in the house of our father. If agreement can be reached and a bride price paid, then that is a matter for individuals to decide. If not, I will not be party to enforcing a system where our women are bought and sold like cattle. I know men in other lands do this, but I would not sell my horses in that way, no Rohirrim would, and I will not let us fall into this folly.

I am proud to write that I said most of that to Erkenbrand. He is not happy. 

Did he dare, I suspect he would foment rebellion. He does not dare, he knows it would avail him naught. The memory of Grima is still fresh in the minds of our people. Fortunately for me. I would like to think enough of our people would not be swayed by his words anyway, but I do not know, perhaps this is something that lies deep in many of us, perhaps this is something new to guard against.

I have written to Frewyn and her husband, and I ask you to repeat this, should they find their way to you, that they are welcome home. That I would have Bramling continue with his work in the south, that I would have him at court or in my eored once more if that is their choice. He is a good man, a brave fighter, and a competent worker. I suspect he will work better with a loving wife at his side.

I know I do.

So I defend his rights, and those of Frewyn to marry as she pleases. She is not her father’s chattel, and although this has long been our custom, I deem it time to restate it that all may hear. For I think that in the long war such things have been lost in urgency, and in the time of peace with Gondor it would be well for our people to remember we are not men of the stone city, we are not those who act in such a way. We are Rohirrim. I have been slow to come to this, I have been slow to stand up to Erkenbrand on this or any matter, but I am there now. I begin to see what sort of king I wish to be.

We have a long and proud heritage. We should keep the best, and throw out only the worst parts, only taking on traditions of others when it is clear to us they are better than our own. 

I am sure you will have noticed my words of my wife. And understood them. Matters between us are well, and more than well. Joyous I would say. 

It is perhaps, early days, but we find we begin to know each other, and to love. Perhaps not as great and romantic a story as that of two injured warriors, recovering together, and standing atop a wall, looking out to see the fate of the world and knowing their own is in the other’s hands, but it is enough for us. She is the mother of my son, all the son I will have, yet more than that, she is my best councillor when I know not what to do. She is more wise than I, more learned, more cunning. I do not know how I could hope to rule our people without her.

Actually, I do not see how I could hope to do much without her, now I am used to her by my side. She makes me laugh, she makes me smile, she makes me happy. I hope I do the same for her.

I think you know enough of foolish love talk not to inflict mine upon you, but indeed, Eowyn, I love her, and she me.

We have not seen need to bother Hathryn. I think the best way to ensure no harvest is to plant nothing. And I am sure you are wise enough in the ways of love to understand that there need be no mere star-gazing to content us.

I wish you a most festive Yule, or as much as can be hoped for surrounded by your Gondorians. I shall think of you, endeavouring to enjoy your wine. Think you of my poor Lothiriel attempting to become used to mead.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Eomer smiles at his wife as he puts down his pen, and wonders for an instant if he should offer to show her this letter, if he should begin to share even his sister with her.

Perhaps not yet. Time enough.

After all, there have been many confidences on both sides, and he is not sure it would be wise. Perhaps he will suggest they write to one another, citing his desire for them to be friends. Or perhaps it is best left as it is.

He hopes his sister is well, is enjoying the pregnancy, does not make enemies with her desire to find homes for kittens. He hopes she is proud of his words to Erkenbrand, and he wonders again why she has long disliked the man so much. He supposes he will never know, just as he never knew why Theodred also was wary. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps he should have trusted their judgement earlier, and not been as drawn in to all this as he was. 

It is a good thing he has someone to trust now, someone to whom his interest and that of his son will always come first.

It may not yet be the love that he has heard of, but – there is time. This is good, and perhaps, as he has written, perhaps more can grow.

If not, he reflects, then Droin would doubtless say he was a better king for it, and maybe that will do.


	29. Chapter 29

Yule in the Year 513 in the count of the Rohirrim,  
3023 in the count of Gondor.

 

From Lothiriel, Queen of the Rohirrim to Amrothos, youngest prince of Dol Amroth.

My dear brother, and as I write the words I wonder why I keep this pretence of having a brother to write to, a brother who would be interested to read such words. It is foolish. It is unbecoming in a queen, in a mother. I resolve that this will be the last such letter. If I wish to write my thoughts again, I will write a journal of my own, addressed to, perhaps, my older self. However, paper, I have begun to understand, is rare, and expensive in this land, so I must not waste this I have started.

Not that my dear husband, my dear lord king, my Eomer would grudge me paper. Indeed, I am finding there is little he would now grudge me, and that I write swiftly, easily, fluently is a source of not just amazement, but pride and envy to him. Also, it is a great help, for there are some letters he is happier not to have to entrust to a clerk, but at the same time, is delighted not to have to write himself and fear his lack of education might be mocked.

My poor Eomer, truly he was not properly prepared for kingship. I suppose it is a small kingdom, lacking in some resources. They are indeed a wise people, but all their wisdom is in their heads, passed from one to another in songs, in tales, or in teaching of lists. Which is all very well, but it puts their king at a disadvantage in dealing with other lands. It occurs to me to wonder how his sister fares in Ithilien, among people of Gondor, for they must be as strange to her as these people have been to me. I have not asked, for I do not think that my husband is ready yet to talk of her to me. I am envious, I admit, of such friendship as they have; it is not something that would ever be between sister and brother in my land, I think. Yet I would rather have had my upbringing than theirs, for at least my parents both still live, my home is safe and always has been. 

Although, it must be good to grow up understanding the ways of love a little better. That, I think, is not just my land, I think it is my station. At least I hope so. I hope not every woman in my father’s princedom is as miserable as I have been.

What has changed? I am still a wife in name yet not in use, as I see I phrased it before. I am still forbidden by the healers to bear more children. Yet, yet so much is different. It began to change even as I was writing that last letter; reading it over I can see how Eomer had begun to come to me, to talk, to spend time with Elfwine, to tell me of his problems. And then the letter from Aglarond. 

I had helped draft the letter it answered – it was the first one I helped with directly so I remember it well – saying this country would not, could not pay such an inflated price. That it was our land they occupied and they should remember this. Oh, we did not write it as plainly as that, and I think that was one of the things that made Eomer look twice at me, for he is a very plain-spoken person, as are all these Rohirrim, he finds the language of diplomacy, of half-spoken, half-implied truths very difficult, both to read and understand, and to write. Coming from my father’s court, it is natural to me. 

So when the dwarf wrote again, and said he would like to discuss these things in person, Eomer was horror-stricken at the thought he must manage this; for he is indeed not one to dissemble, to negotiate. He came to me, asking that I would speak to this Droin in his stead, and it was then that I suggested we should go to Aglarond. It took me some time to explain to him why this would be sensible, but he understands the value of scouting for oneself in times of war, and eventually saw reason. Of course, this is not war, this is trade, but, in some ways there is little difference when two realms must each find the best deal for themselves. If it can be beneficial to both, then well and good, if not, then it is for the ruler to protect his people in this also. 

The journey itself was interesting to me, for it was the first time we had travelled together, the first time we had been away from the court, since we came here from Minas Tirith, from our wedding. Then, then I was too distracted, too much in pain, too much confused and afraid, and bewildered by all that was so strange to notice much around me. This time, this time I was still distracted, but by my son, who clearly loved the motion of the horse, the wide plains, the open skies. I suppose it is perhaps in his blood, his heritage. But this time, this time I saw that my husband does not ride for pleasure. He rides for a purpose only. And so at last, at last, we had something in common. He is not as horse-obsessed as many of his people seem to be. That cheered me, I admit. And then, so many days and nights caring for our child together, talking, at first of weighty matters, such as the journey we were making, but after a time, for the hours could not all be spent in statecraft, after a time we began to speak of other things, of horses, of places we had seen, of tales we knew, tales so few of which were shared, our peoples being so different. Then, gradually, we began to talk of our families, and small things about our lives.

I will not recount it all here. But we began to see that we could indeed become friends, after a fashion, not merely two working together for the good of a kingdom.

Then our time in Aglarond. That was indeed interesting. We learnt much of this colony, of the wealth there. 

I also learnt, by watching the lords of this land, so strange a pair as they are in their differences, yet so loving as they are also, that perhaps, perhaps, there can be compromise and learning between any two, if they wish it. I do not say I began to love Eomer then, for I did not, but I began to see that we could be a strong alliance, we could be good parents, we could both gain much from the other. 

And I found, strangely, that I was not sorry the dwarves had assumed we would share a room, as is their custom for married couples, for we had become used to sharing a tent on the journey. It would, I gathered when we planned the travelling, be thought very odd had we done otherwise, but Eomer had hastened to reassure me that he understood that since I was not able to bear another child, he would not expect to touch in that way. Looking away from me as we returned to the guest room that first night in Aglarond, he said,

“I know not how it is in your land, but here in Rohan it is not uncommon for a man to raise his sister’s children, should her husband die, or should the father of her children be not one she wishes or is able to marry. You are not my sister, and I would not have you be, but, there are times when such a man and his family travel outside our borders when it becomes simplest to allow others to call them man and wife. In likewise, we are married, yet, there is no such true-love between us as I was raised to hope for. It is a loss to me, but, Lothiriel, I can accept it, and promise you that when we share a room as we do tonight, I would no more touch you than I would my sister, were I raising her child.”

At the time, I did no more, I believe, than thank him for his courtesy, and feel grateful that there was no need for me to even pretend regret for the circumstances we found ourselves in. It seemed clear to me that he missed my bed no more than I missed him in it, and I wondered again who his lover was.

Our journey to Aglarond was certainly worthwhile, for not only did we agree greatly improved terms with the dwarves of that land, not only did Elfwine and I learn a little of this country which will one day be his, but Eomer and I became, not exactly friends, but closer.

That was many months ago now.

Since then, there has been much time talking. Much time to come to know each other. Much time with Elfwine, many of his changes to laugh at, to praise, to share. Much time for me to discover more things I knew not of this land, these people, and my husband. 

To discover that he is truly fond of his cat, and her kittens – all of them – that he never meant insult when he offered one, but to cheer me in my loneliness. That he has no lover. That he has never been in love. That to these people, to wed without loving is almost unheard of, is seen as a thing of the city of stone. That it was assumed I must have loved him when we met, so briefly, at the coronation of the High King, and he me. That my keeping to my rooms is seen as peculiar. That none would question my virtue, unless there were truly reason, indeed, it is scarcely seen as virtue, it is simply that if one makes a vow one should keep it. So, those who have made no vows may make their own decisions. 

When one of the ladies tried to explain this to me, and I think she was as shocked as I was at the differences in custom, she then suggested I should talk to Hathryn,

“For, our ways being such, we perhaps – I know not how to say this – we have – she can tell you – how to – to be with your husband yet have no more children.” She blushed, the deepest red I have ever seen, for these people are so fair their skin turns a far brighter colour than those of my land who are darker to begin, and added, “unless, of course, you have your own ways. But – my lady, Hathryn asked me to speak to you. She would not come to you herself, knowing you do not truly like her, but it is important. You must not risk another birth, and she would rather by far ensure no seeds grow, than have to uproot one, for surely – it has been many months. Do not leave it too late.”

And I realised that these people have knowledge which certainly I had never heard of.

Some evenings later, I spoke to Eomer, and I found it difficult, in fact I do not think either of us was able to look at the other’s face, but I thought it should be said.

“I was given to understand,” I began, “that – that your people have ways to – to prevent a child. I did not know this was possible. I fear – I fear I have been remiss. You – you are my husband, my lord, why did you not tell me to speak to Hathryn about this? I would not fail in my – my duty to you.”

He was silent for a long moment, and with a movement that caught my eye, as I looked steadily down at my embroidery, his hands clenched in on themselves,

“Duty?” he said, finally, and I did not know how to understand his tone of voice, oddly low and flat as it was, “there is no duty. We have a son. We cannot have another child. I would not have you lie with me from duty.”

And there was another silence, until he rose and left the room.

At first, after that day there was a coldness, a constraint between us, and I wondered what I had done so ill, I wondered whether I should not have spoken, should simply have gone to Hathryn and then – but what then? Wait for him to speak? Or in this strange land, I thought, is it for me to ask him to my bed? 

Can it be that among these people, a lady of quality must play the harlot for her husband’s favour? 

Little as I liked the idea, it began to seem to me that perhaps that was what was expected, and as I found I missed the friendship that had begun to grow between my husband and I, I decided that perhaps, perhaps it would do no harm to go to Hathryn. 

I think I will never like Hathryn. Not as a friend. But that day I went to her dwelling, I saw a side of her I had not known. Before, she had come to my rooms, as any servant would do, and I had thought of her as such, but this time, this time I sought her out. I knew where she lived, for everyone knows where everyone lives in this place, and I thought it would be more discreet to go to her than the other way about.

I knew she lived with another woman, I knew there were children. I did not know – how could I know – I did not know such things could be – I did not know that she and Brigita were – handfasted is the word these people use. Married I suppose. It became obvious to me, even to me, that such was the case, as I saw them together. Not that they kissed as I suppose they must do, but that they just – were more than friends.

I had no idea such things were possible for women. I knew that men might behave so, and indeed, that elves and dwarves might – but they too are male. I was shocked, but I steeled myself to ignore what my eyes were telling me, and to continue with the purpose of my visit.

“Hathryn,” I began, “I was told that I should come to you for – I do not know what for – but to ensure I do not again become with child, yet can continue to – to serve my lord husband.” And I daresay I was flushed far redder than that lady had been who spoke to me of this, for such things are never talked of in our land, such a suggestion would, I think, be considered a crime against the Valar, while she – she had struggled merely against the difficulty of speaking to one who is not a friend.

Hathryn nodded, and saying she would find the herbs I needed, went into the back room. As I waited, I, without meaning to, caught Brigita’s eye, and for want of anything else to say, yet not wishing to seem cold and silent, I asked, 

“You have many children? You – you do not use these herbs yourself?” for there were two little ones playing on the floor, a baby asleep in a crib, and I had seen several older ones outside as I had approached.

She laughed in answer, “Why would I use such herbs? If I wanted no more children, I would take no more men to my bed, fun though the difference is, for it would grieve my Hathryn so.”

I blushed still more, because of course, why else would she go with a man when she needs not, being no man’s wife? Then, something in her words struck me, and before I thought, I asked,

“Fun? What – what is fun about it?”

There was silence. I bit my lip and looked at the floor, noticing how clean it was, as all these houses are, though untidy and simple by the standards of home. When I managed to look up again, I realised Brigita also had left the room, and I could hear a murmuring from the other chamber. After some time, she returned, and without looking at me, asked me to go through for Hathryn would speak to me.

I went, assuming she wished to explain these herbs, but I was greatly surprised when she sat me down, and took my hand – for in all our dealings, we had not pretended to be friends.

“My lady, Lothiriel, I have to ask you this,” she began, “I would be no healer-woman did I not, but I tell you first, I will give you these herbs, whatever your answer, for I would not have you at risk, and I will not speak of what you say to any, unless you wish it. But – you were married something close to a year before your child was conceived – yet – you spoke as though there was no pleasure in your husband’s embrace? Can – can you tell me – though he is the king - has he hurt you? Has anything – anything happened you did not agree to? For even the king – even the king may not do such a thing to his wife, as he may not to any other woman.”

Then I felt hot, and cold, at the realisation of what she implied, what she thought, that Eomer – _Eomer_ – might have – done that. I could not speak, for surely if there were any man least likely to, it must be he, so gentle as he has always been. Despite his warrior’s renown, never have I known him lift a hand to me, nor even strike the furniture in threat as I have seen my father do so many times. Misreading my silence, she spoke again,

“My lady, I know not what your home customs are, and I would not willingly speak against them, but in this land, the king may not do so. In this land, the king is not above the law. Part of my – my duty, laid on me by all those who came before – is to watch for this. I beg you not to take my words as criticism, as impertinence, but if there is aught amiss between you, tell me now and I will try to counsel you, to find a way out of this. For no woman should have to suffer so.”

At this, I made myself answer, for it seemed to me that she would keep on until I did, and that with every moment’s silence I looked more guilty. No. With every moment’s silence I made the king look more guilty.

“No,” I managed, “no, indeed, it is not as you imply. My lord king – has been nothing but kind to me. He never hurt me, beyond what I believe is normal on a wedding night, and even that – he seemed surprised and sorry. It – it was simply – I did not know there was supposed to be pleasure for women in such things. I – I was surprised when – when Brigita spoke of fun.” I kept my eyes turned down, and I hoped that would be enough.

After a pause, she spoke again,

“I am glad to hear you say it, and I am sorry if I offended you – I hope you can understand that I had to ask. As to – your wedding night – indeed it is unusual in this country for women to be much pained – for we ride so much, and – and perhaps we are – are encouraged to learn ourselves just as growing boys always will. And so – so we expect pleasure and ensure we get it. My lady,” she sighed, “I see this conversation is not to your liking, and so I will stop. But – if there is a time when you would speak of this – to me or to Brigita, or indeed to any – it is not against our customs for women to speak so. I will tell you now of these herbs, but – I beg you – do not put them to the test for no joy of your own. That patience, or even dissemblance – is no way to treat an honourable man. Any that knew what you did would weep for shame.”

I took the herbs. But – I did not know what to make of those words. Over and over I repeated them to myself. That any honourable man would weep for shame if his wife submitted to him without joy. It seemed to me that perhaps that was the reason for this coldness between my lord and I, that when I had spoken of these herbs, of my duty to him, I had wounded his pride.

And one thing all know of the Rohirrim is their pride.

Even though he came to my room, or I went to his study, even though we ate together at the same board, even though we talked of matters of policy, of the kingdom, or small matters of our son, of Elfwine’s doings, there was still this coldness. Ever he would keep a distance between us, and it seemed more than a courtesy, more than it had become when we were friends in Aglarond, travelling companions on the road.

Yet I knew not what to do, how to speak of this.

Then there came a letter to my lord king. A letter from the daughter of one of his most trusted men. Frewyn – who I think I never met – I think she had been recalled to her father’s house from court some time before I came here – Frewyn wrote that she had married a young marshall. I forget his name. It is not important. 

He was one her father wished her not to marry. One her father had removed her from, one he had forbidden her to think of.

Yet she had written to him, and he to her. For months on end. And now, now she had left her father’s house – not by dead of night, by stealth, as in a tale, but boldly, riding out one morning as these women do, and – simply not returning that eve. Although I noted she had waited until her father was away from home to be so bold.

She wrote now, not to ask the king’s pardon, not to seek forgiveness, but merely to inform the king that, should her father come demanding the satisfaction of his honour, she was wed, in all honour, by custom of Rohan, by legal practice of Gondor, and by the feeling of her heart. Thus her father had no case to bring against her husband.

Eomer showed me the letter, laughing, and saying, 

“This, this is the girl my sister tells me she despised as having a head full of nothing. A cunning woman, to my mind. Her man – I would have back in his command as soon as he will – but this lady – this lady I think I might profit from here. What say you, Lothiriel? Would my advisor have an advisor of her own – for surely she is as deep a one, as full of thoughts as you are, and there are few in this land I could say that of, few who could keep their own counsel as well as Frewyn?”

I looked at him, and I knew he partly spoke in jest, yet, not wholly, and suddenly, suddenly I was angry, though I knew better than to show it to my lord. 

“In this matter as in all things, I bow to your will, my lord king,” I said, retreating to the formality of my own land, “yet this lady seems to me not one to take orders, not one to do as she is bid by her father. So I know not quite how you see us as alike.”

And I curtsied deeply, as one does to the king, and left his study. I walked to my room, my head held high as ever, and my face as calm as I could make it. Yet when I was alone, for the first time in all these months, I allowed myself to feel the anger, the hurt, to weep for myself. 

How could he joke of this? How praise this girl? How ask if I – I, his obedient wife, as I had been my father’s obedient daughter – if I would have this woman work for me, and by my countenance restore her honour that she has thrown aside for – for this fable of love and pleasure that men weave to make harlots of any girls foolish enough to listen?

But inside me a voice said – Hathryn is no man, Brigita is no man – they seem to expect me to find pleasure – these people all speak of love – but what is this love, this pleasure? And do I lack, that I feel it not?

Does my lord husband not see there is something missing?

Or – has he ceased to care? 

For it seemed to me, it has seemed to me since Hathryn spoke thus, that perhaps, perhaps at one time Eomer had hoped for – something I did not give. That perhaps when he laid claim to my body that first time, when it was all so strange to me, when he touched my hair, my ears, perhaps he did not seek to gentle me as a horse, but to – I know not. I do not have the words, but – I remembered how he had kissed me, at first, and I had not known what to do, never having learnt of this. How I had waited passively for him to move on to that of which I had been warned. I remembered how he had touched me, so many times, how he had tried to ask what I liked, what I wanted, and I had ever – dutifully – replied I wanted only to please him, that as he was my lord, I liked him to do as he would. 

I remembered him offering me a kitten, I remembered the many times I have seen him with his Cat, talking to her, running his hand over her fur, until she purrs and rubs against him – and for the first time, I wondered if he had cared. If he had known there was something wrong, something missing between us, as I was only just becoming aware, and had tried, with kitten, with words, with touches, with – with all the clumsy kindness these people have instead of court manners – to build that something. But I had not known his intent.

Yet – if he cared so – if he knew that all is not well between us – how can he praise this girl to me? How could he marry me, if this – sensible – marriage is not what he wanted? 

It is he that had a choice.

Not I.

I know not how long I lay there, thinking this, going over and over in my head all that has happened between us, wondering what I had done wrong, and how it could be mended, if it could be mended, and if it truly mattered.

Then there came a knock at my door, and before I could dismiss the intruder, bid them be gone, or bar my door, as I admit I wished to, it opened, and my lord king stood there. Then I was indeed glad I had not barred my door, nor called out, for of course, no wife may bar her husband from her room, even though she might ask him to forgo her bed should it be the wrong time. Yet even that, I know well, I have no right to do more than ask it, and it is simply my good fortune that Eomer is not the kind of man to insist.

He stood there, at my door, and after a moment he entered, shutting the door behind him. I did not speak, I had no words, and he looked away from me, looked at the floor, looked at the window, at the table, at the bed, and I admit I shivered, thinking that now, now was the time when perhaps I would begin to learn what manner of man I had married, what he would do in his anger. For it seemed to me that he must be angered, as my father would have been angered had any of the women in his palace dared to speak back to him as I had, and though I knew I had no right to complain of any treatment he deemed fit, something inside me wished he need not insist on his mastery just at the moment I had begun to see that there might be another way.

“I left Elfwine with Hanita,” he said, naming one of the many maidservants about the palace, one who is fond of Elfwine, “she will see he comes to no harm. I – I would have this conversation between you and I only. I would not have him listen, young though he is, to whatever needs be said today,” and I felt afraid, wondering what, exactly, the men of Rohan do to headstrong and outspoken wives, but then he continued, “I have said something amiss. I know not what. I thought you knew I value your counsel above that of any other. I simply – I feel sorry for the two of them, that they cannot come home. No,” he paused, “I do not. I envy them, that they care not. I feel sorry for their families, they both have mothers, brothers, sisters, Bramling has a father who loves him, indeed, I suspect Erkenbrand may love his daughter in his own way, and I – foolishly, I suppose – I wanted to make things right. To give them a way home. I would not leave this land for anything. I thought my sister was the same, and though she is happy far off – I would have her able to return at times, if I only could.” He sighed again, “I meant no insult to your wisdom. I daresay Frewyn would be little help to you. it just seemed a way for everyone to save face. I am sorry.”

As the silence stretched, I realised he was waiting for me to speak, realised he truly thought I was insulted that he had suggested I might want help. And I wondered whether I should accept his apology, live with this new half-truth between us, rather than risk speaking out. But – I remembered that kitten. He tried that day. Perhaps it was now my turn.

“No, my lord,” I said, “it is not that I felt your words insulted my counsel. It is – I know not quite how to say it – I suppose – I felt – jealous for what you offered this girl, about whom I know nothing. She may be very intelligent.” I stopped, for I had not the words for what I meant, not clearly, not ones I could say to my lord.

“That you cannot go home again? I am sorry. I know it grieves my sister also. It is the way of things for princesses, I fear. I daresay there may be a time I will have to go to Minas Tirith again. Perhaps we could manage a short visit to your land then? Show it to Elfwine? Or – I have said before – your brothers, your sister, would be welcome here for a time?”

Again, again I was tempted to accept this apology, to agree that homesickness was what ailed me, to return to our friendship, so much is it to me – to both of us. Again I thought of that kitten, and this time it was I that looked away as I spoke.

“My lord, I am grateful to you, I thank you, but – no. It is not my father’s palace I miss, not even now the sea. My son is a Rohirrim, this is my home now, and as for my brothers, my sister – I have nothing to say to them, and as for her – it would, I think, be not kind to subject her to the journey, to show her my new life, and then send her home unable to speak of it all, so strange it would be to all those I left behind. I thank you though. I envied Frewyn something else. I – I,” I bit my lip, and found I needed to ask first for reassurance, “my lord, if I were to try to speak – would you – could you – swear to me we will not lose this friendship, this alliance we have wrought for the sake of our son and his country?”

Eomer looked at me for a long moment, and then walked to the window, as though by staring across his lands he would ease himself, as men are wont to do, from this sticky emotional trap I had us both in, 

“Yes, my lady,” he answered, and I found myself wondering what had changed that the formality I grew up expecting has come to seem cold in my ears, so used I am to his “Lothiriel”, “yes, if you have not acted dishonourably to me, then I will swear such a thing. I think, though, it is all too clear what you are going to say to me. You envy Frewyn because she has married the one she loves, she has disobeyed her father. You – you did not. There was one, then? There was one in your land, one you cared for, one who was not deemed enough for Imrahil’s daughter?”

Almost I laughed, for how could anything be further from the truth? 

“No indeed, my lord, no,” I began, and he broke in, 

“Then it is as I wondered long ago – you truly loved Boromir? You wished to be a lady of Gondor?” his voice now was colourless, and I wondered what he was thinking, and why that seemed so hard for him to believe.

“No, my lord, please. Let me try at least to say it. I never met Boromir – how could I care for him? And – from rumours I have begun to hear from your people – he would not have cared for me, though I suppose we would have made shift to dwell together, he had no name for cruelty, and that was the most I was raised to hope for. As for men of my land – you do not think my father would let my sister or I meet any unchaperoned, you do not think we have ever had the chance to learn what love could be? No.” I tried to collect my thoughts, “no, my lord, I envy Frewyn that she knew what this word means. That – that she had the courage – the knowledge to look for it. That – that in your land women have the power to say I love this man, and even if they may not marry, even if nothing but grief comes of it, they know what it is they desire.”

I waited then, thinking I had spoken more than I ever dreamt, thinking that surely my lord would understand what I tried to say, but there was silence. Silence that lasted so long, I began to wonder whether I should begin some task, whether I should go to find my child, or whether I had insulted the king in some way speaking so, and should kneel to find forgiveness.

“Lothiriel,” he spoke my name at last, and his voice shook, as though it were only just under his control, “Lothiriel, I think I do not understand what you are trying to say to me. You did not love Boromir, you did not love another. Well and good. You do not wish for your homeland – also well and good. But this talk of not knowing love or desire – how can this be? for what reason did you think men and women marry? And – and have I failed so to teach you any of these matters? Am I so poor a husband?”

I blushed, I fear, as deeply as any maid, even though this was my husband that spoke so.

“I – I suppose – I thought – I was taught – that men have – needs. Desires, if you prefer the word. That women – bear children. And – marry as their father bids, to better his house, to form an alliance. As for your teaching – my lord – I have come to see that we – we are friends. A personal alliance. Is that close enough to love? I do not know about your teaching, I have no way to judge – I have had no other husband. As for – the getting of our child – it was not so bad as I was led to believe.”

He laughed, a not entirely happy sound.

“Not so bad. Well, that is a start I suppose. But – Lothiriel – if we are friends now – may I sit by you? May we talk more of this? For – yes. We have a personal alliance. And I – I would like it – very much – if that – could become – a little more. I do not think – the time is past – we are not like to ache and burn as people speak of love. We are not likely to become besotted. But – you and I have both watched those two in Aglarond, neglecting their realm, we have heard of Guthric, flinging himself from a cliff, and believe me, there are many more stories out there – I for one do not wish to ache and burn and long and despair. I have you. you make me smile, you counsel me, you are my dearest friend – I have long wished to find a way to say this.” by now, he had turned away from the window, and had come to sit beside me on the bed, as we often sit – but – this time there was no child between us. He took my hand, and continued, “perhaps not really long. I suppose it cannot be, but it is true that you are. You are the mother of my son, you are the queen of my land. Is that – can that be enough, do you think? Or – would you have me release you? By the customs of this land, that could be done, for you were married without your full consent, at least so Hathryn for one would be prepared to swear, I am sure, and who would argue with her? – it is an unusual thing, but you could live here, still mother to Elfwine, still I would hope my counsellor – but – free to love whomever you choose. As would I be.”

I thought on this, I wondered whether if I chose this freedom I would learn to love someone, would be able to go to another’s bed in joy and delight, as I have seen these people do, and I was truly tempted. My father might rage – but if it is the custom of this land – if my son was still heir – what could he do? For I am sure the high king would not countenance such a thing. 

But – a woman’s first duty, above all else – is to her child. And if Eomer married again – he might well have another son. Where then would Elfwine be?

“My lord,” I began, and then stopped, made myself start again, “Eomer, I thank you. You do me great kindness in making such an offer – yet – I would not lose what is between us, so hard bought as it is. You are right, there can be no sense in wishing to suffer as some do, nor in becoming foolish as those who are happy in that way. You make me smile, you are my friend, my dearest friend, you are the father of my son, you are my king. I think that is more than enough. But – Eomer – what of the desires of men? I would not remain married to you, yet have all know you take another woman to your bed, for I begin to understand such is not the way of this land.”

Now it seemed it was his turn to flush, and he that could not meet my eye as he spoke,

“It is not our way. It would be to give much to gossip-lovers, and I would not do so. I can live without, if I must, as can any man. But Lothiriel, I know you have been to see Hathryn, and while I would not have you lie with me from that coldness of duty you offered before, do you think, since we do already know each other’s bodies, it might be possible to try again? In perhaps another way, since I know now you are no elf, and that hair and ears are not the parts you would have me touch,” oh, I thought, so it was not in belief I was a scared horse, but in belief I was an elf, how odd, how sweet, “I – I would not risk another birth, believe me I would not, and – there are many things we might do, that I think could become at least – pleasant.” He laughed, “you will not be surprised to hear I have lain with other women – and in my experience, there are ways to fulfil the desires of women that take no risks. As there are for men. Perhaps – perhaps you would let me show you, in time?”

And I found that our hands were now entwined, his fingers stroking my wrist, and as I watched I wondered of what he spoke, and looking at his clever, capable hand, I decided that perhaps, perhaps I would. I leant against him, and I managed to say, very quietly,

“I think – but I may be wrong – do not these things begin with kissing? And, from what I have begun to overhear from the women of this land, the best time, for parents of a young child, is whenever that child is occupied elsewhere.”

In that, it seemed, I was right.

I think, brother who will not read this, I will write no more. For it seems to me that I shall be most unlikely to forget any of the subsequent events, for as long as I am able-minded enough to read any such account.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

Lothiriel puts down her pen, and folds up the letter. It will go with the others, to be drawn out in some future time to, she hopes, make her smile as she thinks of that day. She looks across at her sleeping child in his cot, at her sleeping husband in her bed, and she blows out the candle.

There is moonlight enough to find her way across the room, moonlight enough to disrobe and slide under the covers.

As the rustle of sheets causes Elfwine to wriggle and murmur sleepily, she wonders how long until this becomes his room, and she joins her husband in what he assures her is the much more – spacious – bed in the royal chamber.

Time enough, perhaps. After all, they are not ones to hurry, to ache, to burn.

No, they are too wise, too content for that.


	30. Chapter 30

Late Spring 514

 

From Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, to Eomer, King of Rohan.

 

My dear brother,

Perhaps 514 will be a fine year for us both. One to remember long. From which you will gather that I have safely been delivered of a boy. I am not sorry not to have a daughter, there is time enough, and I am glad this child is different to the last. F is pleased to have a son too, for they count things that way here. I shall work on this, and I think the elves will help me, for truly, they do not see things that way. For all their faults, and I understand what you say of their empathy, or coldness, they have that virtue.

More importantly, I find, no, we find, we can love this son as we should have had the sadness that blighted us for so many months not happened. Perhaps not quite so, but, we can love him dearly. He is perfect. As one’s child is.

To us.

I think he will learn to sing soon, Meieriel is rather taken with him. I gather there are not yet many elflings in Ithilien. I think in honesty, she is somewhat unsure of this new yearning for a child, and prefers to indulge herself in secret. I asked her if it were true, what you said of Caradhil knowing Legolas when he was young, and she agreed that he did. But it was with a strange look in her eye, I thought, that she added that many of them had and it was not a time they spoke of much for it was a troubled and unhappy period in their Forest. I do not know what she refers to, in fact, I do not even know how old he is. Something to bear in mind though I think, not to tease him.

As for my other worry, that we will not be able to relax, that we will ever worry about our little boy, I begin to understand, as you kindly did not say, that I was being foolish. Of course we worry. Of course we always will. The only parents who do not are those like ours who are dead, or like uncle, whose mind was gone when Theodred died. Or, I suppose, those whose child has died already. Such is the way of things. I sometimes envy F his deep belief in the kindness of the Valar.

I am so very happy to hear that things continue to improve between you and Lothiriel. I will not continue to say it, but do remember the existence of Hathryn and her wisdom. All of it. Should you need it. She has helped those who were not to bear children before now, she knows what to do, and can do it cleanly and skilfully. And keep silence.

I hope that one day perhaps we will manage to meet again, and I will then have chance to become acquainted with Lothiriel, and your little Elfwine. So long as he is kind to his small cousin. 

The end to the story of Bramling and Frewyn is not what I had expected at all. Indeed, I regret my former dislike of her, she obviously has more about her than I thought. I hope they are now home safely, and that you have managed to keep Erkenbrand on a leash. Your words are inspirational, and I shall, you may be sure, bear them in mind. I begin to speak more to F, and again, it helps that not one of the elves would find it odd. I remind him of this from time to time. He deals with Meieriel easily enough when she is here to discuss matters, indeed I think he prefers to deal with her, she is less intimidating. Though equally capable of manipulation and talking him into agreement.

I should be less impatient of Caradhil, I suppose. Last time he was here, and I forget the topic they disagreed on, he told F he should “listen to his sensible wife more often”. Praise indeed. Sensible is his highest accolade I think, and silly the worst thing he can say. I hear him say it mostly of Legolas, of whom he is very fond, but, impatient. I suppose it must be beyond his comprehension, when he works so hard, that Legolas cares nothing for any of it, and has no interest in ruling. But when I said this, or something kinder but like, to Meieriel, she laughed, and said it was just Legolas’ golden time, and would last so brief a spell, surely he was allowed a century or so to forget he was a prince and be merely a happy elf?

Elves are very odd.

I thought once that you were the one with the harder road, with all those dwarves on your doorstep. Now I think the elves are the peculiar ones, fond as I am of some of them.

We are now overrun with kittens and cats. Yet I will not have them harmed, comfort as they have been to me. I shall have to begin encouraging them to find their own ways to live in this land, or perhaps to join the elves they so resemble.

Enjoy this summer, my brother, and if we are not elves, and cannot have a century, cannot forget we are royal, we can at least be happy in our separate lands, connected by these letters. Golden indeed this summer will be, I think, for each of us, in our different ways, seem to have finally found the one we cannot be happy without, and a prosperous land, and, above all, a healthy child, the immortality of men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Hope91 for the suggestion of the longing and jealousy of Guthric - although I daresay she would have contrived a kinder fate, being a nicer person than I am.
> 
> Perhaps a little less angst and twists than sometimes, but - humans have less time to develop neuroses than elves. I hope it does not disappoint.
> 
> And apologies to fans of Imrahil, and all his fellow countrymen - I may have maligned them a little in making them so clearly medieval in many attitudes........


End file.
